


Language Barrier

by scoutergreen



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Alien Language, Angst and Humor, Cultural Differences, F/M, Gen, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Some Humor, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoutergreen/pseuds/scoutergreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegeta has a fall while training in the woods and returns to the Briefs compound to discover his language chip isn't working correctly, leaving him largely unable to speak or understand the humans he lives with. Can Vegeta and the Briefs family find a way to break through the language barrier? Will Bulma find a solution to Vegeta's problem?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

If there was one thing good about the early morning, it was that there was far less chance Vegeta would run into the woman or her mother or the senior Doctor Briefs before he'd had a chance to truly wake up and get his mind settled.

At quarter to six, Vegeta rolled out of bed, rinsed his face with cold water, and pulled on a fresh pair of shorts and a clean t-shirt. He stretched and performed his usual rounds of crunches and push-ups before pulling on a pair of socks and his running shoes.

By five minutes past six, Vegeta was well on his way to a hilly dirt trail that cut through a huge, dense urban forest within a major municipal park. With the winter season over and summer quickly approaching, the Saiyan was intent on spending a bit more time in the sunlight. He'd made it through his first winter on Earth and decided that it was a miserable time of the year that went on for far too long: at first the glittering snow had been almost charming, but the darkness, bitter winds, ice, and mood swings that soon followed made Vegeta resentful and sullen.

At half past six, Vegeta was running at a good, fast pace, the blood racing through his veins and his heart rate steadily climbing. When it started to rain heavily, Vegeta persisted with his run, splashing through increasingly muddy and slick dirt trails, knobby tree roots and tiny, half-embedded rocks mere inches away on either side of the pathway.

After forty minutes of running, Vegeta reached the end of the long trail. He turned around and gazed down the path, finding it utterly deserted, and sighed with discontent when he realized the woman and her family were probably up and making breakfast, meaning he'd have to return home soon lest he be forced to reheat the "leftovers" once again.

Some five metres off the trail, Vegeta noticed a huge boulder, perhaps ten metres tall, and he inspected the rock with fascination. The rock was deep, deep brown, nearly black, and spotted with fragments of glimmering crystals. I'm going to climb this, he decided, and the Saiyan hooked his calloused fingers into tiny crevices and pushed himself up.

Four metres high, Vegeta was midway through hoisting himself up another few centimetres when a fat, hairy caterpillar was disturbed by one of Vegeta's fingertips and raced out of a crevice in the boulder, crawling across Vegeta's knuckles in the process. Startled and quite frankly disgusted by what he saw, Vegeta lost his grip on the rock as he tried to shake off the insect, instantly he lost his footing, and Vegeta tumbled back down towards the forest floor before he could properly react. He landed bottom first and the back of his head smacked against the leaf-padded ground a split second later.

The fall was hard enough to knock the wind out of Vegeta, who coughed and gulped down air as best he could to try and steady his breathing. He was so stunned by his own carelessness in that one moment, that the urge to chastise himself was overwhelming. When his breathing returned to normal, Vegeta snarled and pulled himself back onto his feet.

"Ya'ee'jyot," the Saiyan muttered as he returned to the trail, "wh'gesscer'de o'ffsom'tin lie'dat..."

Why does my voice sound so weird, he wondered, deciding he wouldn't speak out loud again until he was back in the Briefs compound.

_He he, compound, it's such a funny word...com-pound. Pound. Company-pound. Compundy... comp... cump... pony? Pony-comp. Comp-pony'd._

By the time Vegeta reached the Briefs compound, the skies were clearing and the city grew lively. Vegeta went inside without greeting anybody and straight up to his room to shower before breakfast. It was strange, but Vegeta wasn't entirely certain he felt hungry.

_Come to think of it, come to... oh, but I suppose nose, er, no..._


	2. This Is A New Development

Vegeta made it back to the Briefs compound with just enough time to shower and change into a clean set of clothing before breakfast was served. It must have been the "week-end" again, because the Briefs always served a large meal and lingered over coffee for quite some time on designated days. He planned to train in the gravity simulator after eating and didn't want to waste any time, so the chances of Vegeta spending more than twenty minutes at the table were slim.

Vegeta's training had been going well. He'd progressed slowly, but steadily, over the eighteen months since the so-called Super Saiyan from the future had come to warn Kakarot and the others of the powerful androids that were planning to attack.

The accident with the gravity simulator in the late fall had been a brutal setback for the Saiyan, who had been forced to spend a full week resting (he insisted on being allowed to move between his bed and a couch in one of the back rooms, snarling about he couldn't stand to be cooped up in one place for very long) and spend another week allowing his body to continue healing while resuming his training at a much lower level of intensity.

Now that it was spring, Vegeta felt as though he were back on track. Interesting to note (at least in his mind) was that his desire for sleep was waning; he'd taken to sleeping close to ten hours daily over the winter months and was now finding he only needed seven or eight hours maximum now that the weather was warmer.

He went downstairs to the dining room and found the usual weekend spread of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, cereal, fruit, breads and pastries from a nearby bakery, orange juice, and coffee. The Saiyan took his usual spot at the table across from Bulma and started to serve himself without saying a word to anybody.

"Hey," Bulma gave Vegeta a small smile, "wa'ssour'n 'ood?"

Vegeta eyed Bulma suspiciously and asked himself if he'd heard her right. What did she say?!

"Hn," he gave her a noncommittal reply before too much time passed.

"Ah-g'hot foor haars eigh'taar f'yanna gho si ah'out da'ti-sue een's 'imul'ay'taar?"

Again, Vegeta was taken aback by how weird Bulma sounded. Sure, the quality of her voice was still the same, but for the life of him Vegeta simply couldn't understand what she was saying to him. Had the humans always spoken such an unusual language?

"Hn," he shrugged at the engineer and chose to focus his attention on a strip of bacon instead. The Prince of all Saiyans did not have any time to waste deciphering what the woman was blabbering on about, he had to train!

Vegeta made a point of eating very quickly before taking off to train in the gravity simulator.

He avoided the Briefs until dinner; opting to reheat leftovers for lunch and moving through the house as quietly as he could manage. He lay down at four in the afternoon for a nap, setting the alarm clock to wake him in ninety minutes.

When he woke up at five thirty and figured he had enough time to go for a quick run around the compound before dinner, Vegeta once again managed to avoid speaking with anybody and found himself lost in another train of thought once he'd completed the first lap of fifteen.

_Something's up. Bulma sounded really fucked up today. Or am I the one who is fucked up? Of course, I am_ _**deeply fucked up** _ _, but for the sake of brevity and staying on topic, "fucked up" will be limited to "fucked up in the sense that something's up with my ability to communicate". Everybody sounds weird. The woman didn't make sense, her mother's voice was just a... continuous whine... the senior Briefs was a muffled drone._

_But how could I lose the ability to understand these idiots?! I don't understand! Having those chips implanted as a kid allowed me to easily adapt to new languages and develop advanced conversational skills within days! They're fucking designed to last for a lifetime and have a low rate of failure unless there's sudden head trau-..._

_**No** _ _..._

_...but that wasn't a terrible fall this morning. Those chips malfunction if somebody gets their head totally bashed in. Sure I overreacted to an insect, which was completely foolish, but the actual fall was nothing. How many falls have I endured in my lifetime? How many blows to the head and everything's still processing normally?_

_Why did I fall, anyway? Climbing's usually not that difficult for me. I've done it barefoot. Unless..._

_But it just can't be. I'll just have to give it a day. Maybe I'm reacting to the seasonal changes again. The woman's mother mentioned that there's some type of fever associated with the season called "spring"._

* * *

Dinner provided Vegeta with the unpleasant realization that he really was the one who was having trouble understanding normal human speech. He deliberately kept his mouth full as much as possible, chowing down on at least fifteen lamb chops and an entire pan of pilaf. If anybody asked him any questions, he merely nodded or shrugged his shoulders.

As Vegeta went for his sixteenth lamb chop, he caught Bulma staring at him with narrowed eyes and a raised eyebrows. He loathed to admit it, but Vegeta knew the woman was onto him- she was _damn_ clever. I probably shrugged to some idiotic query like: "did you train today?", he reasoned as he tore a strip of fat clean off the lamb chop and popped it in his mouth, not to mention I haven't had any quips to add to the otherwise mind-numbing mealtime banter...

"Vegeta..." Bulma spoke very slowly, "ah'r yu-hokkay?"

"Hnnmmo," Vegeta replied, cutting himself off when he didn't recognize his own voice, "aah, ee-sem... ah, ah, e'sem, e'sem...?"

Both human and Saiyan stared at each other with furrowed brows and mutual looks of deep confusion. Something's really off here, they both communicated through facial expressions and eye movement, and Bulma stared at Vegeta's face with enough intensity to make the Saiyan feel a bit intimidated.

"Dad," Bulma finally turned away from Vegeta and looked to the senior Briefs, "we'll have to put that engine repair off until tomorrow, maybe later. I'm taking Vegeta to the lab right after dinner."

"What seems to be the problem with the young man?" Dr. Briefs started to stare at Vegeta as well, who only grew more mortified by his situation with every passing second. His stomach tightened and he swore his guts had become tied in knots; he was nearly sick with anxiety and the growing dread that something really was very wrong with him and he didn't know what. When Mrs. Briefs started to turn her head in his direction, Vegeta bolted from the dining room.

"I swear, if he runs off into space again..." muttered Bulma, pushing her plate away.

* * *

Bulma found Vegeta in her lab, pacing back and forth and speaking a language the engineer couldn't decipher. She'd never heard anything like it before, nor had she ever heard Vegeta speak in such an unusually gentle voice. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her, face almost forlorn, and simultaneously pointed at his mouth and shrugged.

"Bulma," he nervously sounded it out and watched her face to see how she reacted, "ar'e-go turmandi'e da? Soska'cha... de?"

_Bulma, can you understand me? I'm making sense... yeah?_

"I don't understand..." she spoke very slowly and watched as Vegeta's brows furrowed once more, "can you," she motioned to Vegeta, "understand," she pointed to her ears and nodded, "me?" She pointed to herself.

Another shrug, followed by Vegeta slowly shaking his head to indicate "no", he couldn't understand her.

"Ch'e... ch'e. Ar'e-go'm turmandi'e khonna? Eh'r-do s'ka..."

" _No... no. You cannot understand me at all? This is trouble..."_

"Vegeta," Bulma started again, "did you," she pointed to him, "train today?" She flexed her arms.

The Saiyan laughed when she flexed. There wasn't much muscle to show off! After a few moments, Vegeta realized she'd asked him if he'd been active, and he nodded.

"Hmm..." she looked him up and down before her eyes focused on the ceiling, "get hurt?" She dramatically clutched her right knee and her mouth pulled into an exaggerated grimace.

"Eh..." Vegeta wondered if she'd asked him if he'd hurt his knee, but realized the question would be an illogical one, even by human standards. Before he could continue to figure out what she was asking, Bulma repeated the action of clutching her knee, followed by clutching her head.

_I think she just asked me if I hit my head. And... I suppose in this case..._

He nodded and motioned to his head.

"Did you hit your head, Vegeta?"

When the Saiyan realized the word "hed" sounded familiar, he repeated it back to Bulma and pointed to his head. "Hed? Hed?"

"Yes," she nodded and reached over to brush a stray hair away from his forehead, "head. Vegeta, did you hit," she lightly tapped the ball of her hand against her skull, "your head?"

He nodded, and Bulma's face fell. She looks upset, thought Vegeta, what does this mean?

"Okay, Vegeta," she took a deep breath, "you need to see a doctor. Doc-tor. We are going to call a doctor," she mimed a telephone conversation, "for you," she pointed to him, "for your head," she motioned to her head.

He understood she was calling for some kind of help.

_Dok-tur. What the hell does dok-tur mean? Dok-tur. Sounds familiar... it sounds awful..._

* * *

Vegeta was especially annoyed when the doctor brought in to examine him repeatedly tried to question him and didn't acknowledge Bulma's presence. He didn't particularly like being ordered into a tiny examination room, but put up with it for the sake of satisfying whatever it was Bulma wanted to do. As the doctor spoke him in a low, droning voice, Vegeta motioned to Bulma to start interpreting the doctor's words, his eyes darting back and forth between the woman and the skinny, greying wisp of a man jotting down notes on a pad of paper when he wasn't looking at the Saiyan with stony eyes and a disapproving scowl.

"Uhh, English isn't his native language, doctor. Is it possible he somehow suddenly lost his linguistic capacity and is now monolingual? Before today he was very fluent and can be quite eloquent."

"Mm, I'm sure he was," the doctor rolled his eyes and didn't notice the Saiyan's fists clench briefly, having picked up on the doctor's condescending attitude, "what exactly _is_ his native language, then? Where's your friend from? What's his name again?"

"He goes by "Vegeta", doctor. And, uh... he speaks... um... Spanish?"

The doctor once again rolled his eyes. "Buenas noches señor Vegeta. Podría describir sus síntomas y cuando comenzó a experimentar esto... incapacidad para comunicarse?"

After many seconds of dreadful silence, Vegeta looked at Bulma and shrugged.

"Hmm, guess he's not a Spanish-speaker after all."

_It would be helpful if this idiot acknowledged the woman! Clearly she's got more figured out than this dolt!_

"Just let me, well, play charades with him. I swear, it'll work that way," Bulma pleaded with the doctor, worried Vegeta's temper would boil over and he'd become aggressive or display some of his more non-human abilities.

"Fine," the doctor scoffed, "ask him if he has a headache."

Bulma clutched her head and let out an exaggerated groan of pain. Within two seconds, Vegeta understood it had to do with a headache, and he shook his head. Aside from the _losing-the-ability-to-speak_ thing, he felt fine.

"No..." the doctor wrote down the information, "ask him if he's feeling unusually tired."

Next, Bulma pointed to Vegeta before stretching her arms above her head, yawning, and deliberately slumping her posture to indicate fatigue.

Vegeta shook his head.

"Vomiting?"

"Hell, no," she laughed, "he ate more than a dozen lamb chops at dinner, and I already know he's going to want some kind of snack in another few hours."

"I see..." the doctor scowled sharply, "he seems reasonably comfortable in this environment. I don't see a man in any sort of distress. His reactions are optimal, his eyes look normal, and he looks healthy. I doubt that much lamb is good for anybody, but otherwise I seriously doubt there's anything wrong with your friend, ahem, "Vegeta", if that's even a real name. If this is some kind of prank, it really isn't funny. Are you aware that I put some very valuable research on hold to visit you this evening, Miss Briefs? Should any serious symptoms present themselves in the near future, please direct your friend to the nearest emergency room and quit wasting my time. Good night, Miss Briefs. Oh, and please _do_ pass on my best to your father..."

The doctor put his notes into his briefcase, pulled his coat on, and swiftly headed for the nearest exit from Capsule Corp's medical wing.

"Ohh..." Bulma frowned, "that jackass!" She raised her middle finger and held it in the departing physician's direction.

Vegeta smirked when he recognized her gesture and joined her in giving the finger. They heard a steel door slam shut, looked at each other, and exchanged crooked smiles.


	3. Denial

Vegeta went directly to his bedroom without visiting Bulma's first at ten in the evening, weakly assuring himself that he'd wake up in the morning and to find his problem had miraculously rectified itself overnight.

He tossed and turned until close to one thirty in the morning, getting out of bed several times to have a glass of water or to simply pace the floor and try and quiet his running mind. The man Vegeta assumed was some sort of doctor completely brushed him off despite his obvious inability to speak any discernible human language. Naturally, the Saiyan prince was incensed by the show of disrespect he'd received earlier, but he'd suppressed his anger for the sake of _that woman_.

Although there were times when Bulma tested his patience and stoked his temper to the point where he had to consider their interactions an exercise in displaying just how restrained he could really be, Vegeta also found he was strangely _fond_ of the scientist, and certainly physically attracted to her too. When it came to the his current situation, he just wanted to think things through, desperate to find a way through his new-found language barrier.

Finally, at close to three thirty in the morning, Vegeta fell asleep after willing himself to lay still and keep his eyes shut no matter how much his anxiety mounted. He slept until six fifteen, eyes snapping open and right hand reaching up to inspect a sweat-drenched hairline, and the Saiyan ultimately decided the only thing he could do was train and wait until Mrs. Briefs started making breakfast.

He went to the gravity simulator and performed his typical warm-up, deep stretching and controlled movement routine at 250 times Earth's normal gravity. By the time he was finished, it was close to seven thirty and he knew that Mrs. Briefs was almost always the first human to rise at the Briefs compound. He rinsed his face in the gravity simulator's tiny washroom and went to the kitchen, detecting the welcoming smell of percolating coffee and the flaky pastries Mrs. Briefs seemed partial to baking in huge numbers on the weekends.

"Ooh, Vegeta! Ornging!" Mrs. Briefs pulled out a seat at the breakfast table for the Saiyan and gently squeezed his right shoulder. She brought him a mug of coffee and plate of warm croissants and continued to chat happily to her guest, oblivious to his dumbfounded expression as she kept making breakfast while talking nonstop.

"Eehn den eye roz gaar-din wilby komp'ti'shun furr'st pryz!" Mrs. Briefs returned to the table with cream and a plate of different fruit preserves and butter and smiled happily at her scowling guest.

"Ah're dak'de ngorg'manda er'de huken n'dan moro! Mejdhaa! Seest!" Vegeta's voice bordered on a yell, half from frustration with Mrs. Briefs incessant chattering and half from his inability to understand a word she was saying to him.

" _I DON'T UNDERSTAND A FUCKING THING YOU'RE SAYING! JUST STOP! PLEASE!"_

Mrs. Briefs stopped mid-sentence and tried to place the language he was speaking. She was already frustrated by his refusal to reveal any particularly detailed information about his early life(she knew he was from another planet, but nothing else) and the fact that he suddenly wouldn't speak in English, even just a few curt words, was enough to finally arouse feelings of fear towards her unusual guest.

"Are you okay, honey? Do you have a headache?"

The Saiyan's eyes flashed when he recognized the word "head", but he couldn't entirely place the suffix attached to it.

"Hed-aay-kuh..." he muttered under his breath repeatedly before realizing she had meant "headache" and shook his head to indicate "yes", hoping it would finally shut her up. She responded to this with a nod and went to cooking breakfast in relative silence.

_I swear, if I have to play charades with everybody in this house, I'm either going to fuck off into space again or I'm just going to say say "fuck it" and destroy the planet, killing every human and myself in the process._

He slowly chewed on a chunk of croissant and tried to recall any other English words he hadn't lost. Over two cups of coffee and three croissants, he realized he could recall the words "chicken", "beer", "blue", "mango", "fuck", "shower", and "capsule".

Breakfast was ready by the time Bulma and Dr. Briefs came downstairs, and Vegeta acknowledged Bulma with a curt nod and pushed the empty chair beside his out with his left foot.

"Vegeta," she brushed her fingertips across his wrist as she sat down and smiled when he returned the gesture. The hand-brushing was the only sort of affectionate gesture Vegeta would remotely tolerate in any sort of mixed company, sometimes even when they were alone.

Unfortunately, the breakfast-time conversation was overwhelming for Vegeta, whose brain continued to try and process the words around him and the frustration from his inability to understand far too much to handle for the Saiyan. He loaded up his plate with bacon, toast, fruit, went to the fridge and pulled out a 4-pack of yogurt, and took his breakfast upstairs to his room.

* * *

Vegeta was still finishing his breakfast when he heard a knock at the door. Annoyed, he opened the door with his face already set in a stern look of disapproval, but his expression quickly softened when he came face-to-face with Bulma.

"Hey," she spoke softly, "can I," she pointed to herself, "come in," she motioned into Vegeta's bedroom, "to your room, Vegeta?"

He considered her words for a few seconds and invited her inside. He hadn't understood any of what she had said besides his name, but still he motioned for her to take a seat on his unmade bed and returned to his desk to continue eating.

"Vegeta," she took a seat and continued to speak slowly and softly, "headache?"

He shook his head.

"No?" Bulma shook her head to confirm his answer. Maybe her mother had misunderstood Vegeta, although it was quite possible Vegeta had complained of a headache so he didn't have to listen to anybody over breakfast.

Vegeta finished his final segment of orange and heaved a frustrated sigh. He shrugged his shoulders and looked over at Bulma, asking her how exactly they were ever going to manage any kind of meaningful communication.

"You," she pointed to Vegeta, "are going for an MRI. Scan," she hovered her hands over her torso and slowly moved them up and down, "for your head. To speak," she motioned to her mouth, "and hear," and then she pointed to her ears.

I think she's telling me I'm going for some kind of examination...

Still, Vegeta narrowed his eyes before he handed her a notepad and pencil. A few months earlier, after a nightmare so gruesome that it left Vegeta unwilling to go back to sleep, Mrs. Briefs gave him a pack of notepads and pens and suggested he try writing down his dreams to see if it helped, claiming it could assist in "processing" and "winding down again". Although he was skeptical, he did try it a few times, scrawling down his thoughts using the galactic standard system of writing, knowing no human would be able to decipher his writing, and he found it somewhat helpful.

Of course, Vegeta never told Mrs. Briefs that he typically incinerated the piece of paper used to write down his thoughts the second he was finished writing. Not that she ever asked him about the notepads anyway, something he was deeply grateful for.

Bulma accepted the notepad and hastily sketched an MRI machine and a frowning stick person (with a head of spiky hair) laying on a stretcher before passing it back to Vegeta. He looked at the drawing, scowled sharply when he realized the stick person was supposed to represent _him_ , and then finally realized Bulma was trying to tell him he was going for a test to try and determine what exactly was going on.

The problem: Vegeta loathed MRI machines. The noise they produced was awful and the earplugs the technicians gave him did nothing to cut the irritation to his sensitive ears, they took a long time, and being required to stay still in such an enclosed space with such terrible noise always tested his nerves. He'd had two during his stay in Capsule Corp's intensive care unit and had proven to be a very difficult patient in the process, trying to pull himself out of the machine ten minutes into an hour long scan the first time.

He flipped the page and passed it back to Bulma with a raised brow. You know I don't like that machine, he signalled, so give me a damn good reason to get into that thing one more time!

"I knew that was coming," she mimicked his expression and grinned before making a second drawing for the Saiyan to interpret. He's so sharp, she thought, and hopefully he'll understand my offer is for the greater good...

She passed the notepad back a few minutes later and Vegeta inspected her drawings. He recognized the syringe, and a clumsy drawing of an oxygen mask over a nose and mouth brought Vegeta to the conclusion that she was promising he could be sedated for the scan.

Fair enough, woman, he tilted his chin up slightly and smirked, this better be worth my time. Let's hope your human sedatives can even phase my superior Saiyan physiology.

* * *

Bulma took Vegeta to Capsule Corp's medical centre mid-morning and he was quickly checked-in and brought into a cool, brightly lit preparatory room. He openly changed into a backless gown, ignoring the offers for a curtained stall to change clothing and making the middle-aged technician laugh in the process, and he soon found himself laying on a narrow bed with a warm blanket covering him below the navel and his head propped up on a firm foam pillow.

A nurse inserted an intravenous line into the crook of Vegeta's right arm and connected it to a length of tubing and a small bag filled with a clear liquid. A clip gently closed over the tip of the Saiyan's left ring finger and he could hear the gentle blip of his heartbeat on a nearby monitor seconds later. Already he felt a little fuzzy and relaxed, but he didn't feel the need to close his eyes.

Finally a clear plastic mask connected to two lines of thick, white tubing was placed over his nose and mouth and Vegeta breathed in something that he perceived as almost sweet on his tongue. He breathed out, looked into the nurses' blue eyes, inhaled for the second time, and his eyes fluttered shut.


	4. No News May Be Bad News

The MRI took roughly an hour to complete, and after being wheeled into a recovery room it took Vegeta close to twenty minutes to come to again. His eyes fluttered open and the first thing he noticed was that he felt very weak and lacked a sense of control over his surroundings. Arms heavy, he tried to pull an oxygen mask off his face, struggling with the elastic and nearly falling asleep again once he'd managed to pull it down past the tip of his nose.

A nurse stood over him and gently removed the mask. He glared at her, but said nothing, and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"Bulma," Vegeta mumbled, looking around the still-blurry room for any sign of her.

The nurse squeezed his wrist and said something he couldn't decipher. She picked up a telephone and paged for Bulma to come to the recovery room to assist her companion and wrote notes down on a chart for several minutes while Vegeta struggled to regain a sense of control and steady consciousness. After five minutes, Vegeta was able to keep his eyes open and managed to pull himself into an upright seated position.

"Now, Mr. Vegeta," the nurse turned back to her patient and smiled, "we're going to need you to have a little something to drink before we can let you leave. You're going to feel pretty out of it for at least another half hour and will probably want to sleep when you get home. Do you understand?"

Vegeta stared blankly at the nurse. Her words just sounded garbled, not to mention her cheerful, high-pitched tone of voice made him feel as though he was somehow being mocked. Then a gnawing worry that Bulma wasn't going to show up started to fester in his gut. He didn't like having this strange nurse invading his personal space, and he _really_ didn't like how the anaesthetic made him feel.

"Yan'goro as'de seima ar'e de."

_You need to get away from me._

The nurse continued to linger in his space; a low growl rumbled in his throat and he tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, not expecting to be hit by a wave of vertigo as he moved. The nurse dropped her chart and tried to get her patient to lay back down, struggling against his tremendous strength.

"Vegeta!" Bulma reached the recovery room as the Saiyan struggled to get out of bed, pushing away the nervous nurse who wasn't ready to receive any blows from her powerfully built and reportedly temperamental patient.

The Saiyan awkwardly fell back onto the bed when he recognized Bulma, suddenly noticed the bandage on his left hand, and spent several minutes focusing on the texture of the bandage. He glanced over at Bulma and tried to sit up again, pacing himself to avoid the sensation of vertigo.

"He's always an interesting one when coming out of general, eh?" The nurse winked at Bulma and looked through Vegeta's rather colourful and ever-expanding medical record on her computer monitor.

"Oh, yeah. He'll be acting funny for at least another six hours- anaesthesia hits him like a truck... I hope he hasn't been giving you much trouble."

"Nothing out of the ordinary for this guy. I'm pretty sure he cussed me out in his native language at one point... I don't know if that makes it better or worse, to be perfectly honest with you. Anyway, he's probably going to want to sleep when he gets home. Keep him somewhere where people can keep an eye on him. And, ah, I was told he was very easy to work with this time," the nurse laughed nervously and made a point of not looking at Vegeta, who sensed the nurse wasn't saying anything complimentary at the moment.

"Bulma!" He managed a hoarse shout and sat up again, already better coordinated than he was a few minutes prior.

"Okay, tough guy," Bulma reached into an oversize leather purse and retrieved a fleecy black zip-up hoodie, a pair of shorts with an elastic waistband, and a pair of slide-on sandals, "we're gonna go home. Capsule Corp."

"Mhm," the Saiyan nodded just once and started to clumsily pull his hospital gown off, managing to pull his arms free and wriggle the entire down to his hips. Sighing, Bulma took a seat beside her stubborn companion and helped him into his sweatshirt. Getting Vegeta to put on his shorts took more time, but by the time he was dressed, he was willing to have a small cup of water before sliding his feet into his sandals.

* * *

Back at the Capsule compound, Vegeta stumbled into the living room and dropped onto the couch, clumsily bringing his legs onto the cushions as he lay his head down. He floated in and out of sleep until late-afternoon, when he finally came to with his stomach growling and mouth dry.

Vegeta would have been more disturbed by the sight of Mrs. Briefs seated in the reclining chair opposite the couch. "Hi, sweetie," she set down her book and spoke softly, "you've been asleep most of the day! I'll make you some nice soup and a little toast, okay?"

"Nnngh," Vegeta rolled over and shut his eyes again. He was hungry, but he wasn't sure he could handle listening to (and certainly not understanding) the woman for an extended period of time. However, when he picked up the scent of toasting bread and soup, the Saiyan decided it was time to get up. He moved slowly, his head still foggy and limbs strangely heavy. Before something to eat, I should use the restroom, he realized as the dull throb of a full bladder registered in his brain.

Mrs. Briefs set a bowl of tomato soup and a plate of sourdough toast at Vegeta's place and the smell was enough to convince the Saiyan that this humble-looking meal would satisfy him. She also brought him a large glass of room temperature water and a mug of mint tea.

He ate slowly, genuinely enjoying the bread and soup, barely noticing Mrs. Briefs setting out places for four more people until the short bald one and the scar-face were sitting across the table from him.

"De-eeeeeegh... ar'e de s'koru _fuck-ing_ mej'don ade. Ses'kse de mene'den ar?"

" _Oh, uuugh, you have to be fucking kidding me. What do you cretins want?"_

"Uh... hello, Vegeta..." Yamcha spoke very slowly and loud enough to irritate the Saiyan's ears, "we heard you saw the doctor today..."

Krillin's brow crinkled and he shot an odd look at Yamcha, making Vegeta's lips turn up in a smirk for a half second, before he slowly and softly responded to the tall warrior: "I don't think he can understand you, Yamcha. Remember Bulma said he's lost his ability to communicate in our language? He'll probably get more out of our tone of voice than our actual words, so be aware of how your voice sounds..."

"Except for the obvious f-bomb there... no kidding..." Yamcha was startled by the sound of Vegeta's native tongue and what was arguably his _true_ voice, still husky but softened and almost melodic.

" _Why are you here, damn it? Where's Bulma?"_ Vegeta scanned the room and growled when he couldn't find the woman. _"Buuuuhl-mah!"_

"This is so weird..." Krillin muttered.

"Tell me about it... this just hammers in that whole _there's-an-alien-living-here_ thing, doesn't it?"

"Hey, I'm just glad he doesn't have that tail any more! I'd rather he speak a funny language than be able to turn into a gigantic ape, Yamcha!"

Yamcha took a small sip of soup, never breaking his gaze with the flustered Saiyan. "He's scary no matter what..."

When Bulma finally entered the kitchen two minutes later, carrying a tablet and thick hardcover book marked with flags, Vegeta let another growl rumble in his throat, and he motioned to the two humans with his arms outstretched, shaking his hands at them just once to emphasize just how unimpressed he was by their presence.

" _This is not what I want to see after spending so much time sleeping off your terrible Earthling drugs! Why are these morons here, Bulma?"_

Bulma had a mouthful of toast before responding to Vegeta's indecipherable words. "Krillin," she pointed to the monk, "Yamcha," she pointed to the handsome human, "at Capsule Corp today. While Vegeta sleeps," she mimed sleeping.

"De..." Vegeta shrugged and had another spoonful of soup, "ezke? Sko'ruj de ar'e de mejda n'gro ema..."

" _Eh... come again? I slept and now I feel strange..."_

Again, the three humans tried to communicate with him, slowly, but the still-drowsy and somewhat nauseous Vegeta refused to co-operate with his hostess or the well-meaning men. He continued to eat and even managed to motion for another cup of tea. At one point, he noticed Bulma looking through imagery of what was without a doubt _his_ brain, and he grabbed her tablet and stared at the scans, quite impressed by the clarity of the images.

Then, after recalling older MRI results that Bulma had shown him during stay in the Capsule Corporation's intensive care unit after the GR accident, Vegeta realized the images of his brain showed what was, by all accounts, a normal brain. There was no noticeable trauma to his brain or skull indicated on the results of the MRI, which meant there was no clear reason for loss in language comprehension.

Vegeta looked Bulma in the eyes and sighed.

" _Now what do we do? I'm not a doctor, but I can tell there's no major injury to my head... this could be real trouble for all of us."_

Just then, a huge wave of nausea hit Vegeta, he staggered over to the kitchen sink and vomited. When all of the humans started to make a commotion and both Bulma and Krillin came to either side of him to provide assistance, he snarled, spat into the sink for a final time, and clumsily shoved them away. For the first time since Vegeta had lost his ability to communicate with humans, he raised his voice and the soft quality present all but vanished, replaced by a familiar sharpness and roughness.

" _Stop crowding around me, damn it! Have you not any concept of personal space? I can't even eat a meal without being made a spectacle of now that my chip's fucked up! Leave me alone! I want to be alone!"_

He made his way up to his bedroom, slammed the door shut, went straight to bed and fell asleep within ten minutes. When he awoke at eleven thirty in the evening, he noticed a huge bottle of water had been placed on his bedside table. Mouth parched and vertigo finally gone, Vegeta twisted the cap open and took his first grateful sip.


	5. Two Different Methods Of Communication

After sleeping so many hours over the day and into the night, Vegeta was finally awake and his appetite had returned with a vengeance. He found it easy to leave his bed and his sense of balance had returned in full, but his muscles felt heavy and hard to control. Still wearing the zip-up hoodie and running shorts, Vegeta finally realized his clothing was damn uncomfortable; he changed into a clean pair of shorts and a dark blue t-shirt, went into the washroom to rinse his face, and then went downstairs to find something to eat.

There was no point in trying to find anybody to make food for him, he figured, he was hardly in the mood for charades, nor did he really feel like interacting with anybody who may have seen him throw up onto a stack of dirty dishes just a few hours prior.

He went down to the kitchen and discovered a platter piled high with an assortment of thin sandwiches in the refrigerator and took it into the living room. He returned to the kitchen to fetch a half gallon bottle of water and finally took to the couch, turned on the television, and channel surfed as he slowly ate.

Vegeta would never admit it, but he really did enjoy the sandwiches Mrs. Briefs made whenever he complained of feeling peckish, which he was prone to doing. This time she'd made a selection he recognized as salmon salad, curried egg salad, turkey and sharp cheese with mango chutney, watercress and cream cheese, roast chicken, and roast beef and horseradish on rye. Even better, she'd made ten of each variety, which was about six times the amount she usually made for him. He wasn't entirely sure why she'd made such thin, light sandwiches this time, but they were still delicious- he figured it didn't make sense to complain.

Although the Briefs television sets received signals from all over the globe, subsequently exposing Vegeta to the diversity of human languages, there wasn't a single tongue that Vegeta could understand. He flipped through infomercials, late night talk shows, cartoons, the occasional film, and several 24 hour news channels.

His chip still wouldn't process any speech, and it all sounded like a garbled mess. At one point, he set the television on mute and watched a news broadcaster silently drone on about upcoming highway construction in West City.

After an hour and a half of constant eating and watching snippets of different television programs on mute, Vegeta stretched and rose from the couch, slid the empty platter onto the coffee table, and went outside to take a walk around the path that wound around the huge property. He hadn't expected it to be so cold and damp outside, and dressed in just his shorts and t-shirt, he didn't tolerate the temperature for much time before he headed back inside and up to his bedroom.

Stomach full and still feeling heavy and tired, the Saiyan pulled off his clothes, curled up in bed and enjoyed dreamless sleep until five thirty in the morning.

* * *

When Vegeta went into the gravity simulator, he noticed it took a long time for the computer to boot up and half the lights weren't working again, not to mention the simulator wouldn't go any higher than one hundred times Earth's normal gravity. Fine, thought Vegeta, I'll just exercise for a longer period of time at a lower level of gravity. After two hours of stretching, movement routines, and agility exercises at one hundred times Earth's normal gravity, Vegeta was hungry and wanted to get breakfast immediately. He rinsed off in the shower, changed into clean sweatpants and a tank top, and strolled into the kitchen, expecting to see Mrs. Briefs preparing one of her delicious meals. Instead, he walked into the kitchen to find Mrs. Briefs preparing another huge stack of the sandwiches he'd eaten last night, and there was no breakfast in sight.

"Good morning, Vegeta... did somebody get a little hungry last night? I found the plate that held all those sandwiches," Mrs. Briefs spread a spoonful of salmon salad on a thin slice of white bread, "those were for the garden party today! Good thing you didn't find the other platter, hmm?"

The Saiyan responded by raising a brow and going into the refrigerator to find something to drink. He took a full carton of orange juice and brought it to his seat at the table, twisted the cap open, and started drinking in silence. Mrs. Briefs hummed a cheerful tune and continued to make delicate party sandwiches at a record speed.

" _Where exactly is breakfast? I'm hungry, damn it. Make me food now!"_

Mrs. Briefs cut her final salmon salad sandwich in half before turning around to face Vegeta, brows slightly knit together in confusion, and said: "I'm sorry, sweetheart, I just don't understand you!" She turned back towards the counter and proceeded to peel chilled boiled eggs for egg salad.

" _Make me some fucking breakfast."_

The curse word was easy to decipher, and Mrs. Briefs clucked her tongue with disapproval, "mind your tongue, Vegeta! There's no need for such bad language. It's not proper to swear around a lady, you know! I'm old enough to be your mother, young man!"

The Saiyan snarled with annoyance and stormed over to the counter, slapping a thick palm against the marble. _"I am hungry, and you will feed me, you stupid woman! Do you not understand why I have taken a seat at the table?"_

"Oh, are you looking for breakfast, honey? Go have a seat and I'll whip something up. I can't believe you even have room in your belly after all those sandwiches!"

Vegeta wouldn't budge, and he actually growled when Mrs. Briefs brought her hand towards her shoulder. _"FEED ME, DAMN IT."_

"Oh, you don't want to sit, do you? How about I show you how to make a yummy, healthy breakfast, sweetie pie. Come on," fearlessly Mrs. Briefs put her soft hand on Vegeta's shoulder, totally ignoring his bared teeth, and guided him to the refrigerator, "let's get some eggs. Four will do. You just want to be part of action too, don't you?"

He couldn't believe what was happening.

She fetched four eggs from the carton and placed them into Vegeta's large, rough hands. Stunned, Vegeta followed her back to the counter and gently set them on a cutting board. Mrs. Briefs took two ripe avocados from a wicker basket and put them beside the eggs.

"Okay, Vegeta," Mrs. Briefs stood beside him and took a sharp knife from a wooden block, "cut the avocado in half lengthwise," she cut the fruit and gently separated it before prying the pit out with the tip of the knife, "now you try it!"

She handed him the knife and he quickly figured out he was supposed to mimic her action. He cut the avocado in half, pried the pit out, and set his two halves beside hers. Mrs. Briefs beamed and nodded with approval. "Good! Let me get a baking pan," she found a glass pan in a cupboard and set the pieces in the pan.

_What the fuck is going on?!_

"Now look," she took an egg, cracked it against the edge of the counter, and opened it above the round hole in one avocado half, "just like that. Try it, honey!"

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds before realizing she wanted him to mimic her again, finally cracking open an egg and emptying it above another hole in an avocado half. He did it again twice more, just to prove to the woman that he was capable of doing anything she could do, and didn't even realize she'd heated up the oven in the meantime.

Finally, he watched as she sprinkled salt, black and cayenne pepper on the raw dish before putting it into a hot oven and setting the timer.

"Go sit down," she motioned to the table, "I'll get you a cup of coffee, sweetie," she poured him a mug of coffee and handed it to him.

_She either hasn't figured out that I can't understand her, or she doesn't care..._

He accepted the coffee, added some cream, and returned to his seat at the table. For fifteen agonizing minutes, Vegeta tried to make sense of what he'd just experienced, only reaching the conclusion that the Briefs matriarch was quite fearless and therefore somewhat respectable, at least by inferior human standards. The Saiyan was startled out of his trance when the oven timer beeped and he watched as Mrs. Briefs plated what he presumed was his breakfast. She placed a small plate stacked high with toasted bread at his place along with a large plate for four eggs baked in avocados.

Reluctantly, Vegeta tried the combination, and his eyes widened when the smooth, creamy texture of the avocado and slightly runny egg yolk mixed together with a mouthful of toast. It was the perfect balance of creamy and fatty, savoury, spicy and mildly sweet, not too heavy but also satisfying. This is delicious, he thought, I could easily make this...

_...hang on, the woman did just teach me how to make this!_

Another mouthful of his breakfast as Vegeta continued to consider what had just happened. Mrs. Briefs continued to hum away and made a stack of sandwiches.

_...she literally dragged me through some sort of culinary training... that human really does have some balls to pull such a stunt._

As Vegeta finished his fourth egg and avocado half, Bulma finally came down to the kitchen.

"Look who's up!" She nodded to Vegeta and fetched a cup of coffee, noting that it seemed odd that her mother was making yet another stack of sandwiches. "Feel better, Vegeta?" She pulled out a chair next to his and put a hand on her stomach as she sat down.

He nodded, took another bite of his breakfast, and looked over at the Briefs matriarch with a raised brow.

_What exactly is going on here?_

"Ohh," Bulma dipped her head, understanding his expressions, "garden party," she pulled out a small blank notebook and quickly sketched out a dozen stick figures interacting around a table of food, tents and flowers in the background, "at Capsule Corp today."

Vegeta laughed when he first glanced at the rather crude drawing, but when he realized it was depicted an event where _strange humans_ would be around the Saiyan's expression quickly soured.

" _You must be fuck-ing kidding me."_

It took a lot of restraint on Bulma's part to refrain from laughing at Vegeta's single English word. He didn't handle being around strangers well to begin with, they had a tendency to make him nervous, and many of them felt entitled to enter into what the prince considered his personal space; anywhere he was living, eating, and perhaps resting was _his_ space as far as he was concerned, and very few were permitted to spend an extended period of time even around the edges of his barrier.

Bulma motioned for Vegeta to return the notepad. The engineer set to drawing again, while Vegeta watched on nervously. When he caught a glimpse of men carrying poles and fabric for tents, he growled loud enough for Mrs. Briefs to stop in her tracks and stare at him in shock. Finally, Bulma returned the notepad with a new drawing that depicted the two of them sitting at a picnic table by a body of water.

Vegeta scowled, tossed the notepad onto the table, and took off for the simulator.

"Vegeta, wait!" Bulma called after him, only to hear a shrill _"FUCK"_ in reply and the sound of the Saiyan's footsteps fading away.

"Oh, let's hope that thing even gets started again... he got really lucky early this morning..." Bulma leaned back in her seat, took a long sip of coffee, and started silently counting to see just how long it would take Vegeta to return.

Three minutes later, Krillin and Yamcha entered the kitchen, eyes still sleepy and minds not quite awake yet. The monk poured a cup of coffee for himself as well as one for Yamcha, took a seat at the kitchen table, and quizzically eyed Bulma.

"What's this for?" Krillin picked up the notepad and looked at the two sketches, struggling to contain his laughter. Bulma's artistic depiction of Vegeta was absolutely _hilarious_ ; she drew him with huge, triangular eyes, a thick monobrow that resembled a downward arrow, an exaggerated scowl, and biceps that resembled water wings.

"What is that, Krillin? Let me see," Yamcha pulled the notepad out of Krillins hands, looked at the drawings, and started to howl with laughter, "beautiful artwork, Bulma! A very realistic rendering of the Saiyan prince!"

"What's his issue right now, anyway? We heard him drop another curse word and decided to hang back upstairs for a few seconds..." Krillin took the notepad back, looked at the drawings a second time, and cracked up laughing again.

"Oh, he always gets grumpy whenever there's company, and today he wasn't too excited to discover that my Mom's having a garden party. Isn't that right, Mom?"

Mrs. Briefs set her fresh platter of sandwiches in the refrigerator and nodded. "That's right! I'm on the board of the West City Gardener's Club, and this year it was my turn to host the annual kick-off celebration. Oh, if only Vegeta understood English right now, I'm sure he'd just love the event! So many cultured, intelligent people turn up, I just know he'd find somebody nice to talk to!"

Yamcha raised an eyebrow, deeply skeptical of Mrs. Briefs' belief that Vegeta could _ever_ be social, much less with members of West City's intellectual and cultural elite.

"Anyway," Bulma continued, "the drawings were my way of telling him there's an event going on here today, and that I'd be willing to take him somewhere quiet for the day. As you already overheard, our Saiyan prince wasn't too receptive to the idea and stormed off to the gravity simulator, which, as you also already know, is currently malfunctioning. I was supposed to start repairs a few days ago, but after Vegeta's accident, we all got a little side-tracked."

A heavy silence descending on the kitchen. Krillin sighed, drained his cup of coffee, and returned to the percolator to pour himself another cup. "So, how long do you think it'll be before Vegeta figures out the simulator's on the fritz?"

The engineer lit a cigarette and smirked. "Well, it's been about four and a half minutes since he stormed out of the kitchen and headed over to the simulator..."

Twenty seconds later and a loud thud followed by Vegeta repeatedly screaming the word "fuck" reached the kitchen. Mrs. Briefs shook her head with disapproval, Yamcha looked for the nearest exit in case of emergency, Krillin laughed into his coffee, and Bulma merely rolled her eyes and took another drag on her cigarette.

"To answer your question, Krillin, it takes about five minutes for Vegeta to figure out that the simulator's on the fritz."


	6. Reality Setting In

When Vegeta stormed through the kitchen and went upstairs, ranting in his native language and veins in his neck visible, Yamcha hid under the breakfast table while Krillin made certain to focus exclusively on the weekly grocery flyer.

The thud of a door slamming. Bulma sighed and chose to have another cup of coffee before going upstairs to explain the situation again to her temperamental guest.

"So... there's a special on ham this week... and if you spend four thousand zeni, you get a free frozen turkey breast..." Krillin broke the silence, his voice still trembling. Please don't go up there, his expression begged, that guy is just too much!

"Just give it a few minutes, guys. I'm just going to hang back for a few minutes before going up there. He'll figure it out eventually, but obviously I need to speed up the process this morning..."

"You're really going up there, Bulma?" Krillin finally set the flyer down and made certain to keep his voice low.

Yamcha emerged from underneath the table, nodding in agreement with Krillin, "I think Krillin makes a good point, Bulma. Do you think it's such a good idea to approach him when he's in one of his moods?"

"Oh, whatever," Bulma pushed her mug away, "he's just going to be sulking, guys. I'll go up there, he's going to bitch and whine in his native language, I'll figure out a way to sign that I'm taking him to a quieter environment for a few hours, he'll either figure it out or just calm down naturally, whichever comes first, and everything will be back to normal."

"As normal as living with that piece of work can be..." muttered Yamcha, folding his arms over his chest.

"To be fair to Vegeta, if I suddenly lost my ability to understand what everybody around me was saying, I'd be really frustrated too," offered Krillin, "and it's not like there's anybody else who can speak his native language..."

The kitchen went quiet for several moments. Yamcha focused on his plate but didn't eat, and Bulma held an unlit cigarette an inch away from her mouth as Krillin's words sunk in. Yamcha's mouth tightened into a grim line. Suddenly the Saiyan's inability to communicate wasn't quite as funny any more; everybody at the breakfast table knew Vegeta was struggling to adapt to human culture and customs, and it was no secret that Vegeta's mental health tended to be fragile at best, and he was isolated to an extreme degree that nobody in the kitchen could ever begin to comprehend.

"I'm going upstairs. Don't worry, I'll get the message through to him somehow," Bulma's face brightened but a little sadness continued to linger in her eyes.

* * *

Vegeta lay stomach-down on his bed, face buried in his pillow and fingers tangled in his hair. He was beyond frustrated and a sense of real fright was starting to develop; what if this was his new life? This was reality. This was real, _very_ real, and not some horrible nightmare.

If there is a god, perhaps it is testing me, thought Vegeta, but why must I endure even more misfortune? Haven't I suffered enough?! This planet tests me, I struggle to understand these people and their customs as it is! And they really are a talkative bunch! How am I do keep up with these fools if I cannot even speak with them?

A knock at the door. Vegeta lifted his head an inch off the pillow and grunted before dropping back down.

"Vegeta..." Bulma entered and spoke softly, "Vegeta?"

The Saiyan rolled over in his bed and looked at Bulma through narrowed eyes.

"I can't understand you and you can't understand me. What are we to do? I'm all alone now! I'm utterly isolated! The language, the culture, it all truly will die with me. No trace of my culture in that fool Kakarot, now is there? There will never be any discussion or discovery for you humans now, should I have ever opted to share with you even a scrap of the undervalued wisdom of the Saiyans."

Bulma listened to Vegeta speak in his native tongue, fighting to keep her expression neutral as she processed the sound of his raw voice and struggled to compare his language to any she may have heard on Earth, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps something close to Arabic, but then she swore it also sounded like Urdu... it was reaching, but perhaps Malay? Even Portuguese and some French.

_I need to record him speaking and see if I can't run some audio samples and compare his speech to languages spoken here on Earth... he's absolutely fascinating to listen to right now. Softer spoken, huge vocal range, a little raspy and throaty, but that may be due to long-term stress or injury to his vocal folds. I wonder if he'd be willing to sit through a laryngoscopy. Probably not._

"Okay, big guy," Bulma gave Vegeta's forearm a reassuring squeeze and produced her sketch pad, "let's try this again... Vegeta, look out the..." she hastily drew a square, "win-" added a frame, "-dow..." and panes of glass.

Vegeta softly repeated "window" and it sounded more like "phween-dogh", but after three seconds his expression brightened and he looked out his bedroom window, upper lip curling over his teeth when the Saiyan spotted tents and tables decorated with white tablecloths.

"Okay," Bulma turned his attention back to her sketchpad, "we will," she pointed at herself and then at Vegeta, "go out today," she started to draw a simple landscape featuring a body of water, grass, and plenty of sunshine, "to a lake," she pointed to the body of water in the drawing, "just you and me," she once again pointed to herself and then to Vegeta.

His lips tightened slightly and he tilted his head. "Mm," he nodded after a moment, "Buhl-mah," he brushed his fingertips across her right arm, "e-de mej'dhaa ke de moru-saj onne'ra."

" _Your idea to go elsewhere is good."_

"Yes?" Bulma smiled, hopeful he'd understood her this time.

"De, de. Buhl-mah," he nodded in reply and touched her arm again, this time gently squeezing her shoulder. He rose from the bed and pulled open his dresser drawers, searching for proper clothing to bring with him.

"Good, you understood this time! Is fifteen minutes good?" Bulma counted every digit on her hand three times and Vegeta instantly understood what she was asking. He nodded and returned to looking through his clothing.

* * *

Vegeta lay sprawled on the grass with his eyes shut and lips turned up into a small smile. It was overcast but pleasantly warm. He was actually enjoying this; Bulma had produced a huge basket of hot food in thermoses, cold food in glass containers, and chilled drinks from the trunk of her vehicle after their arrival and they'd eaten by the water in relative silence. She'd brought a dry, very bubbly type of sparkling wine he'd tried only once before on a very special occasion called "Christmas" (he didn't understand any of it, but he didn't object to the food and certainly not to receiving gifts) that left him feeling just a little lightheaded and giddy.

They'd gone for a long walk in relative silence, only expressing a few simple ideas through sign language and facial expressions, and the experience had been oddly liberating for Vegeta. He could accept that he'd enjoyed spending time with this human woman. He liked looking at her and he really liked touching her. He was fond of Bulma, but she loved to talk, often to the point of overwhelming the Saiyan with the sheer volume of words she spat at him and speed of her delivery (especially when she was stressed out or speaking about something she felt particularly passionate about) and often forcing him to ask her to please define a word she probably considered "not that advanced". Bulma was _so_ intelligent, and while it appealed to Vegeta, he was also a bit intimidated at times and certainly didn't enjoy it when she made light of her highly developed vocabulary.

"Hey, Vegeta," Bulma lay beside him and rubbed his shoulder through his light knit sweater.

"Mm," he slowly stretched and looked at her, "de?"

"De?" She repeated, and when his brow furrowed in disapproval she laughed under her breath, "you're kind of cute," her fingers reached into his hair and gently rubbed his scalp, "y'know that?"

"Mmm," he smirked and reached over to bring his fingers through her soft, fine hair, _"I have no idea what you just said."_

And then she softly kissed his cheek, and Vegeta felt his face getting very warm. She dared to show such affection out in the open yet again, and while Vegeta's more Saiyan sensibilities were quite offended by this brazen display of affection, another part of him was left feeling good when she kissed him, and he wanted more.

He opened his eyes, leaned over, and kissed her on the forehead.

" _Is this a human courting practice? One of these "dates" you're always going on about?"_

A rumble of thunder in the distance. Vegeta sat up and spotted dark clouds rolling across the lake and looked at Bulma, waiting for her expression. She shook her head, signalling that it wasn't a good sign at all, and they got up and started to make their way back to her car. By the time they'd put everything into the trunk and were set to leave it was starting to rain heavily.

* * *

When Vegeta came into the kitchen after changing into fresh clothing and found the breakfast table literally covered with a selection of pies, cookies, cakes, and sweets left over from the garden party, his eyes widened and within a matter of seconds his stomach was growling.

"Hey, Bulm-oh my god," Krillin entered the kitchen, eyes widening with horror when he nearly bumped into Vegeta and voice going shrill with surprise, "Vegeta! Hey, buddy!"

The Saiyan snarled at the monk and stomped over to the cupboard in search of a large bowl. He retrieved a bowl, took a tin plate containing more than half a cherry pie, and dumped the entire plate into the bowl, put it into the microwave for thirty seconds while retrieving a container of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. Once the pie had been warmed-through, Vegeta promptly dumped the remaining half pint of ice cream into his bowl, found a clean spoon, and took his snack into the living room.

Desperate to see if there was any programming he could understand, Vegeta picked up the television remote and started to channel surf. Out of morbid curiosity, Krillin cut himself a generous slice of pecan pie and brought it into the living room. He took a seat at the other end of the couch, as far away from Vegeta as possible so as not to offend the mercurial Saiyan, and nervously offered a friendly smile when Vegeta coolly looked him over.

The Saiyan rolled his eyes, shrugged and returned his gaze to the television screen. Fine, you can stay, his body language said, just don't irritate me. Yamcha spotted the scene from the hallway and wondered if he should join in, if only to provide Krillin with some backup in case of an emergency.

After several moments of consideration, Yamcha decided that taking a selection of left-overs up to his bedroom was a much wiser decision. You're on your own this time, he mentally warned Krillin, I just hope you two manage to communicate!"


	7. Desperate Measures

Vegeta scanned through the channels, desperate to land on a channel he could miraculously understand. With Krillin watching, half fascinated and half horrified, the Saiyan slowly ate his cherry pie and ice cream and flicked from program to program.

After twenty minutes, Yamcha's curiosity got the better of him and he returned downstairs, stopping in the kitchen to fetch a drink from the refrigerator and pull a bag of potato chips out of the pantry. He took a chair near Krillin, aiming to remain as far away from the Saiyan as possible, and he watched with fascination as Vegeta watched an infomercial for a juicer with a somewhat detached expression in his eyes. Then, he flicked to a Bollywood film and his face brightened. He sat through a long musical sequence and Krillin spotted the Saiyan jiggling his foot to the beat, and it took all of the monk's mental strength to keep from laughing.

"It's in Hindi..." Krillin looked to Yamcha and raised a brow, "maybe Vegeta understands it? He seems to like the music..."

"In that case, I know somebody on the baseball team who could speak with him..." whispered Yamcha, still watching Vegeta's expression. The Saiyan's face had darkened again, and Yamcha gently shook his head, "...but I don't think he really understands, Krillin..."

Vegeta changed the channel. A French-Canadian variety show. Vegeta's nose wrinkled and he laughed when a male guest started speaking. _"What the hell is this?! It sounds even more bizarre than that language Bulma and the others typically speak!"_ Again, he changed the channel and landed on a German language news broadcast. Vegeta grew still and watched the two broadcasters recite the news with stoic expressions on their faces.

After five minutes of Vegeta intently watching the news in German, Yamcha looked over at Krillin, his face wary. "Maybe we'll have a German-speaking alien around now..."

And then Vegeta changed the channel again, landing on a karaoke program. He cringed at the sound of a shrill woman's voice attempting an extremely high note and turned the television off. His bowl empty, Vegeta set it on the coffee table, rose from his seat, and slowly made his way to Bulma's lab.

After their outing in the afternoon, Bulma had expressed that she needed to complete some work, which Vegeta understood as a request she wished be left alone for a while. Bulma's need for a bit of space throughout the day was one of the reasons he liked her in the first place, and Vegeta was more than happy to give her the privacy she requested.

"Buhl-mah..." he silently entered the lab and waited until he was only a few steps away before speaking, "a're-de sko'ruj andane kara-ka? Meej'dho as'kaj mere'o eskadare'da-ka de me e'de. Mara'dane de s'ke!"

_Do you still wish to be alone? The simulator's stopped working and I have nothing else do do. Entertain me!_

"Hi, Vegeta," Bulma leaned back in her seat and looked away from her computer, "are you lonely, hmm?" She rose and embraced him, and once Vegeta made certain there was nobody else around, he nuzzled her right shoulder and neck.

"C'mon," she kissed his forehead, "I wanna go upstairs with you..."

"De- _eeee_?" Vegeta nipped the crook of her neck and grinned when Bulma gasped.

"Vegeta..." Bulma undid the top button to her jeans and guided Vegeta's right hand down her stomach and let him take over once his fingers pulled away the waistband of her underwear and went even lower. A smile grew on his face when he felt the beginnings of her arousal and he looked at Bulma, his eyes glimmering mischievously. Bulma tilted her head up, suggesting they go upstairs. Vegeta's grin only grew larger.

* * *

Fan turned high and windows open, Bulma lay with her head resting on Vegeta's bare chest and a sheet covering half her sweat-drenched backside. Her partner was still recovering from his final orgasm of the evening and he absentmindedly massaged the back of Bulma's neck with his left hand.

"Mmm, Vegeta..." sighed Bulma, thoroughly content. When Vegeta was in the right mood, he was a very generous and affectionate lover, and despite the obvious issues in communication he'd been very attentive that particular evening.

"Mmm..." Vegeta nodded and smirked.

After a few more minutes, Bulma rolled over and pulled a hair elastic from a container on her nightstand. She pulled her hair into a messy bun and settled back down, body cooled down enough that she pulled the sheet up to her hips.

Vegeta went into her washroom, presumably to rinse off, and returned five minutes later with damp skin and dressed in his running shorts. He returned to the bed but sat on the edge of the mattress. Only rarely did he spend the entire night in Bulma's room.

"Buhl-mah. Kakarot kaa'le de. Es'ke de mejdhaa moru'gu raj'karaa da. He'j de Kakarot mende ede!"

_Bulma. Call Kakarot. I'm starting to wonder if he's been chipped too. Kakarot will be useful for a change!_

"Okay, Vegeta..." Bulma retrieved her sketchpad, a pencil, and passed both to her partner, "can you show me?"

The Saiyan rolled his eyes but obeyed. "Kakarot," Vegeta hastily drew a remarkably detailed portrait of his rival, "moru'gu raj," he tilted his head at Bulma and then sketched out a picture of Bulma's phone.

_Get Kakarot quickly._

"Aaah," Bulma nodded, "I see, Vegeta," she took the sketchpad back and drew figure of a man in a bed and added a wild mess of hair, "Kakarot is sleeping," Bulma pointed to the sleeping figures, "until morning. Look," she pulled the alarm clock off her nightstand and pointed to the hour, "it's night, and Kakarot will sleep until here," she pointed to the 5 on the clock's face.

_I think she's saying we have to wait a few hours for Kakarot. There's a big surprise! But I'll just sleep until the idiot can come through for me, at least that will kill a few hours... there's no use in trying to argue when I'm stuck in this predicament._

"Hmm," Vegeta gave her a firm nod signalling he understood. He stretched and yawned, scratched the back of his neck, rose from the bed and promptly went to his own bedroom.

Bulma chuckled, turned off the lamp on her nightstand, and shifted towards the centre of her bed. "Good night, Vegeta..."

* * *

At quarter to six, Vegeta woke up naturally and immediately recalled his intention to contact Kakarot to see if there was a way they could communicate. He rinsed his face, brushed his teeth, hastily pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a grey polo, and went across the hall and knocked on Bulma's door.

Silence.

He knocked again, much louder this time.

A muffled groan. The sound of shifting blankets.

"Buhl-mah!" Vegeta slapped her door and growled, growing very annoyed. An hour had already passed since Kakarot had risen for the day, why was she still asleep? How dare she waste so much valuable time! What if Kakarot decided to take off on one of his side trips as he was so prone to doing?

He went inside and found Bulma sitting on the edge of her bed, eyes bleary and hair a tangled mess. "Hmm?" She rubbed her eyes and looked at Vegeta, "okay, I'm getting up, big guy..." she rose from her bed and shuffled into her washroom, yawning loudly. With a slow sigh, Vegeta took a seat at her desk and waited for the woman to finish getting ready.

Thirty five minutes later, Bulma was showered, dressed, and ready to take Vegeta on a trip to the Son house. She placed a call to the Son house and the phone was answered by Chi-Chi, who very reluctantly agreed to allow the two to come over after forcing Bulma to repeat her story three times. The entire time Bulma got ready, Vegeta alternated between stoically sitting at the engineer's desk and pacing the room.

"You're really rarin' to go, aren't you, Vegeta? Well, come on," Bulma threw her tablet and a notebook into her purse and fetched her car keys off the desk, "it's a bit of a drive, so we'll make a stop for food and a bathroom break along the way. Oh, you don't know what I'm saying... let's go!"

Their first stop was for coffee and a some light breakfast items; pastries, fruit, cartons of orange juice and, at Vegeta's insistence, a quart of chocolate milk. With caffeine to keep them alert and some food to stave off the Saiyan's seemingly constant hunger, they set off down the highway en-route to the Son household. During the two hour drive, neither occupant of the vehicle spoke to each other. Vegeta dozed after finishing his mostly liquid breakfast and Bulma managed to listen to the radio at a fairly low volume without any sign of protest from the Saiyan.

When they arrived at the Son household, Goku was waiting out in front next to a stone-faced Chi-Chi, who coolly looked over Vegeta and scowled with disapproval when Gohan went to greet the prince. Vegeta gave Gohan a nod, ignored Chi-Chi entirely, and immediately approached Goku.

"Me'de ar ske de arjo-du, Kakarot. Mendhaj kara-ko raj'karaa mone de as'ke mara-na, ieh ne? Eshe shen'goro'm de ka-te se err-te."

_It's important we converse, Kakarot. This is an act of desperation for me to come here, get it? Surely you were chipped before coming to Earth._

Goku tilted his head, blinked several times, and shrugged before cheerfully replying: "sorry Vegeta, but I didn't catch a word of that! Was that the Saiyan native language? It sounds so neat!"

_Well, shit. So much for the hope that Kakarot would be of help. Face it, Vegeta, you're totally on your own now. Good thing the woman is patient, at least most of the time... you'll be playing charades and drawing stupid little pictures for the rest of your miserable, isolated days on this pathetic planet._

Utterly defeated, Vegeta leaned against the side of Bulma's car and slowly sank down until he sat on the ground with his knees pressed to his chest.

"Not so good, huh?" Goku took a seat beside Vegeta and clapped the Saiyan prince on the shoulder. Vegeta let out a half-growl that dissolved into a long sigh.

" _You can't possibly understand, Kakarot. I'm all alone! I am the last living speaker of the Saiyan tongue, and there is no way for me to communicate in any other way now! I am trapped by my own near-extinct mother tongue, desperate for any way to break through this barrier! What kind of punishment is this I endure, Kakarot? Why me?!"_

Bewildered by the scene before her, Chi-Chi looked to Bulma and shook her head in disbelief. "Guess you weren't joking about your buddy here. Poor guy, even if he isn't so nice it must be really tough to not understand anybody around you... and such a long drive, too! Do you think Vegeta would like to stay for some lunch?"

Nodding, Bulma knelt beside Vegeta and prepared to try another round of communicating with her guest. "I'm sure he'll be more than happy to try some of your home cooking, Chi-Chi. Who knows? It might even make him feel a bit better, he's obviously really upset right now."

It only took forty seconds for Vegeta to determine that he and Bulma had been invited to lunch. Kakarot's wife would be cooking, and the Saiyan prince nonchalantly accepted the offer, stomach rumbling and genuinely curious to try the sort of food his rival ate on a regular basis. If nothing else, the meal would allow Vegeta to further study his rival without the expectation that he would participate in conversation with anybody else at the table.

Vegeta rose to his feet and gave Chi-Chi a slow, gracious nod before _that smile_ of his started to spread across his face and his eyes narrowed and glimmered. _"I accept your invitation to a meal, wife of Kakarot. I only hope you can impress the Prince of all Saiyans with your culinary prowess!"_

"What did he say, Bulma?" Chi-Chi eyed Bulma warily and wondered if she wanted to know what the alien had just said to her.

Bulma swallowed, a little nervous for the meal to come. "Let's not ask him to elaborate..."


	8. Resignation

_Why do his house and his life have to look so damn perfect too? Does this jackass have absolutely no problems to speak of?_

Vegeta picked up a flat stone from the narrow shore of the river and skipped it across the river before moving up the bank to take a seat on a thick log. He watched as Goku sat with a fishing rod in hand, completely still, eyes shut and mouth curled up into a content smile.

They'd been sitting by the river for forty five minutes, after a twenty five minute walk through thick forest that Goku insisted at taking at a leisurely pace. The Earth-raised Saiyan had talked absentmindedly the entire time, oblivious to Vegeta's annoyance.

"I really wish I could speak to you in what is, well, our native language! You're the only one who could tell me more about my culture, and I really wish you'd share more with me, because you definitely have some interesting things to say! Plus, you're really smart and perceive the world in a really unique way, and I bet you could teach me some really amazing Saiyan fighting techniques!"

"Kakarot."

Goku understood his name, and perked up when Vegeta said it.

" _Kakarot, you need to shut up already. Any more blabbering on and I'm going to kick your ass."_

The earth-raised Saiyan only smiled and giggled. "Geez, you sound so serious in any language!"

We're getting nowhere with this... Vegeta pulled his shoes and socks off, rolled up the cuffs of his pants, and waded into the fresh, cool water. Goku watched in amazement as Vegeta disappeared beneath the surface of the water with barely a ripple left behind and vanished as he sunk into the depths.

For four and a half minutes, the river was completely silent until Vegeta came rushing towards the surface, gasping for air and carrying three struggling, bleeding salmon in each thick, calloused hand.

"Wow, Vegeta! That's incredible! You're gonna have to teach me how to do that, I've never seen anybody catch fish like that! You hunt like an animal, I mean, not that I'm comparing you to an animal or anything, you're just so swi-"

" _Kakarot! You're giving me such a headache with your banter! Let me enjoy this moment in peace!"_

Goku grinned and scratched the back of his head, "geez, Vegeta, I really just can't get my head around the Saiyan language at all! But I'm glad you're letting me hear it, because it's pretty cool to have a native speaker around!"

Clothes dripping and hair heavy, Vegeta rolled his eyes and started on his way back to the Son house, leaving his shoes and socks behind. All he wanted was some lunch followed by a swift departure from the idiot and his perfect house and perfect family, and he made a point of flying back.

* * *

Lunch turned out to be quite the delicious affair; the salmon Vegeta had brought home (Chi-Chi screamed at the sight of the shoeless, soaked Saiyan when he appeared in her kitchen and silently dropped the still-struggling fish into an empty sink before heading back outside to wring out his clothing and dry off under the bright noontime sun) was cleaned and skinned, drizzled with dark sauces, topped with orange slices and wrapped in foil, and finally left to slowly cook over glowing coals. There was soup, a huge array of side dishes, pickled vegetables, endless bowls of rice, pan-fried noodles drizzled with fragrant oils, fried bread, refreshing tea and hot coffee served with condensed milk.

" _You're a very good cook,"_ he offered to Chi-Chi at one point, pausing just long enough to stop devouring his portion of salmon. When the woman only shrugged, the Saiyan pointed to the food and then nodded.

The woman smiled back for just a second before breaking her gaze with him.

After eating his share, Vegeta's stomach was so full that he leaned back in his seat and didn't move for several minutes, completely ignoring Goku's offer to go and train together for a few hours. He hadn't realized it, but he'd been one of the major topics of discussion during the meal: Chi-Chi had little sympathy for the Saiyan, while Gohan felt very sorry for him, and Goku found the entire thing fascinating and didn't think it was "that big of an issue" because they could always learn to communicate via sign language. After Bulma warned everybody to never say Vegeta's name aloud, they took advantage of the fact that the Saiyan couldn't understand anything and shared how they felt about his long-term presence on Earth.

"I still don't think he's trustworthy," Chi-Chi had struggled to keep a neutral face and refrained from looking at Vegeta for more than a half second at a time, "not after all his past actions. I just don't understand how you can sleep knowing that he's in your home!"

Oh, I can sleep with him alright, thought Bulma, her face growing warm at the thought.

"Oh, come on, Chi-Chi!" Goku's voice was jovial and sweet as always, "he's been living in the city for a while now, and so far nothing too crazy has happened... right, Bulma?"

The engineer smirked and rolled her eyes, "nothing too crazy, that's right. For the most part, we all get along pretty well on a day to day basis with some friction here and there. But we definitely accompany him when he's in the very rare mood to buy something or go out in public. Our friend here tends to hang around the compound most of the time."

"He's tolerable, if you give him lots of distance and get to know him," offered Gohan, recalling his interactions with Vegeta while on Namek.

Once he'd started to digest the huge meal, Vegeta rose to his feet and looked around the house. It was small, cozy, had a feeling of being lived-in, and colourful. There were dozens of plants set everywhere; pots of ivy on top of cupboards, herbs in jars on windowsills, potted palms next to bookshelves, and vases of fresh cut flowers on tables and desks. Kakarot's wife is certainly house-proud, he thought, and the idiot seems pretty content with her and is happy to do what she asks.

He passed by Gohan's small room and spotted the boy absorbed in a book, completely detached from his surroundings. Suppressing the temptation to take Gohan by surprise and attack him from behind, Vegeta cleared his throat and attempted to pronounce the demi-Saiyan's name: "Go-hahn."

"Oh!" The boy pushed his book away in surprise and rose to attention, "hello, Mr. Vegeta. Um... this is my room? Feel free to... err..." he froze in place and watched, rather horrified, as Vegeta started looking around, glancing over bookshelves stuffed with hardcover volumes and even inspecting a toy firetruck that Gohan had not played with since he was a toddler.

" _How nice that you get to be a child. Savour it, kid."_

"I don't, um... understand? Mr. Vegeta..."

The Saiyan locked eyes with Gohan for a few intense seconds before returning his attention to a potted English Ivy on his desk. _"I know you can't understand me, and maybe that's a good thing, because I hate that your father has all this shit figured out and so much nice stuff in his life. I just hate it. It just eats at me inside, knowing I'll never have anything like this..."_ he motioned around the room with his eyes, _"you lucky sonofabitch. You know, maybe it's a good thing nobody can understand me right now, because I can finally get some of this pent-up frustration off my chest."_

Gohan continued to stare at Vegeta, eyes wide and mouth fixed in as neutral a position he could manage. Part of Gohan wanted to laugh, but another part of him sensed that Vegeta wasn't saying anything remotely complimentary- there was a sadness in his voice that was so much more apparent in his native tongue, and it left the young demi-Saiyan feeling quite sorry for Vegeta. He wasn't handling the situation very well, and who could blame him?

Over tea, Chi-Chi and Bulma listened to Vegeta going on in his native language as he looked around the house.

"What do you think he's saying, Bulma?" Chi-Chi continued to avoid looking at the Saiyan, terrified his attention would turn to her. He'd taken a seat at the kitchen table, crossed his arms over his chest, and shut his eyes. You have the time to finish this conversation with your friend, his body language warned, but I want to be out of here soon.

"No clue... but if he decides to ramble during the car ride back to the city, I'm going to record it," Bulma drained her cup of green tea, "he knows a few English words, and still recognizes everybody's name, but the past few days have been very challenging. I guess trying to communicate with Goku didn't help."

"Oh?" Chi-Chi's brows rose, "what words _does_ he know?"

"Um..." Bulma refilled her cup and then topped up Chi-Chi's, "the f-bomb, naturally, because he has the foulest mouth I've ever heard in my life. He's pretty fond of mangoes, so he remembers that word... he remembers a few words for food, colours, and general body parts. His word for home is now "capsule" which makes sense, but other than that, we're playing a lot of charades and developing some sign language... or trying to, anyway. Sometimes it's really funny, but other times it's very frustrating for everybody involved."

"I guess that means you haven't figured out what caused this problem?"

"We don't know exactly what happened, but Vegeta's indicated he had some kind of fall and hit his head. He went for an MRI, but to be honest, the results were inconclusive... incredibly enough, his brain is remarkably healthy and looks totally normal- I'm guessing it's that thick Saiyan skull."

"Tell me about it," Chi-Chi chuckled and rolled her eyes, "I know all about the thick skull of a Saiyan!"

Both women laughed, but Vegeta caught on the word "Saiyan" followed by the peals of laughter and felt hot anger surge up through his body from a deep pit in his belly. He opened his eyes, turned around to stare at the women, and with his teeth bared he snarled: _"don't you dare insult my race!"_

"Whoa, Vegeta," Bulma spoke slowly and maintained eye contact with him while Chi-Chi made a hasty retreat into Gohan's room, "capsule?"

The furious prince continued staring at Bulma, eyes glimmering with fury and brow knit. He didn't move, and paid no mind to a defensive Gohan entering the room. After forty agonizing seconds, he nodded and stood up, waiting for Bulma to do the same. Arms still crossed, he waited in silence and did not move.

"I guess we're going home," Bulma offered, saddened by the sudden mood swing but not particularly surprised, "it's best we get back soon anyway. Thanks for lunch, Chi-Chi. His temper's still cool enough to handle, don't worry," she finally rose from her seat, gave the terrified hostess a hug, and knelt down to become eye-level with Gohan, "we're outta here, kiddo. I'll call you guys soon, okay?"

Gohan refused to let down his guard, "you sure it'll be okay, Bulma? If he hurts you..."

"Trust me, that won't happen. I've seen him in way worse moods," she rose from her seat and went to Vegeta's side, "come on, Vegeta. Capsule."

He growled and stormed out of the house, pushing away Goku as he approached the front door, alerted by the sudden change in energy.

"Hey, Vegeta! Where ya goin', buddy? Don'tcha wanna train?"

" _Kakarot! Fuck off!"_ Vegeta snapped as he walked past and went to the car.

* * *

During the ride home, Vegeta was silent for the first half before he started to ramble for close to an hour. He didn't even notice when Bulma turned on the voice recorder on her phone and set it on the dashboard, capturing Vegeta's speech so she could analyze it at a later date.

" _I hate that I'm starting to become resigned to my fate. Now I am truly all alone, with nobody to talk to and nobody who can understand my words. Trapped on a planet full of weak people with limited technology, and now we're apparently all a year and a half away from being totally obliterated by some killer robots. Why me? Why must my life be one loss after another? First, the loss of my people, then the loss of my freedom, the loss of my two comra- oh, that one isn't so bad, come to think of it... but now, I'm trapped on Earth and unable to talk to anybody without playing charades or doodling on paper! The loss of my ability to communicate is just too much to bear! Is God playing some massive cosmic joke on me? Why must I be singled out? Have I not suffered enough?!"_

Whatever he's saying, I bet it's really dramatic, thought Bulma as they entered the city. When Vegeta started to recognize more buildings and main roads, he grew very quiet.

At home, Vegeta went to his room, changed into his swimming briefs, and went straight to the pool to swim forty laps. Vegeta loved the warm water, the fact that nobody bothered him when he swam, the bright tiled room, and how weightless he felt in the pool, it was a welcomed change from the harsh environment of the gravity simulator, and he'd learned that he had to alternate his training environment if he wanted to avoid injuring himself all the time.

After swimming for two hours, Vegeta pulled himself out of the pool and went back to his bedroom, leaving a trail of water behind him as he moved through the house. He showered, changed into clean clothing, and lay on his bed, too depressed to watch television or go downstairs to pester somebody to make him something to eat.

An hour after his shower, a soft knock at the door roused Vegeta from his light sleep and he opened the door, expecting Bulma but finding himself standing face-to-face with Yamcha. He rolled his eyes and went to shut the door when the human warrior said something in a voice pathetic enough to make Vegeta stop.

"Here," Yamcha pulled a piece of paper from his pants pocket and presented it to Vegeta, "Bulma, Krillin... um, me... Yamcha... simulator!"

Vegeta unfolded the paper and looked over a drawing depicting the three humans and Vegeta carrying something that looked like a piece of sheet metal as a team towards a crude rendering of the disabled gravity simulator. Recognizing the drawing as Bulma's very questionable artwork, he growled low in his throat when he saw the woman had once again drawn him with a massive scowl and very exaggerated eyebrows.

" _There's no way my life can get any worse... fine, human. I shall help you with the simulator,"_ Vegeta pulled on a pair of socks and his running shoes and exited his bedroom, pushing Yamcha out of the way in the process, _"but I'm only helping because I've nothing else to do!"_


	9. Current Issue

Vegeta went to the lab with Yamcha to find Bulma, Krillin about twenty feet away from the simulator, a large section of the hull's bottom completely removed and one massive ring-shaped device extracted from the machine and set on an adjusting mobile work bench.

"It's burned... look at the damage to this time! The power cell was actually burning up this entire time! What's going on in there? I must have made a huge miscalculation! Ugh, this could take weeks to figure out... I'm sure glad you-know-who can't understand this!" Bulma inspected the power cell, hands protected by heavy rubber gloves, and she shook her head, completely lost on what to do. She hoped a solution would materialize in her head soon, unwilling to put up with an angry Vegeta who couldn't speak more than ten words of English.

"Speaking of which..." Krillin nodded at the approaching Saiyan, "we've got the heavy-lifting now. Think he'll help?"

"He'd probably have a fit if he could understand me right now," Bulma smirked and waved at Vegeta, "but he's usually willing to lend a hand in here if I ask really nicely, and if he's resistant I can just bribe him into doing it by offering to buy burritos from that 24-hour diner downtown."

Yamcha and Krillin started to laugh uncontrollably and fought to look away from the Saiyan, who had taken to staring at the damaged power cell on the floor.

"Hmm?" The Saiyan looked up and raised a brow.

"Vegeta," Bulma placed a gloved hand on his arm, "I need you," she pointed at him, "to lift me up," she pointed, "into simulator," she motioned to the huge machine, "to find problem. Yes?"

"Hmm?"

"On your shoulders," she moved both her hands up and gently squeezed his shoulders, "Bulma up."

"Aha!" He figured out her request and went to pick her up when she frantically shook her head and rapidly told him to do something. He froze in place, unsure of how to react, and recoiled when Krillin tossed over a huge pair of rubber boots and a pair of rubber gloves.

"Like me," Bulma wiggled her gloved fingers, "you too, Vegeta."

Reluctantly, he shook off his sandals and stepped into the boots and pulled on the gloves before crouching so Bulma could straddle his shoulders. He slowly stood up to his full height, allowing Bulma the perfect amount of headroom to look inside the simulator.

"Man, why didn't she just have one of us levitate?" Yamcha muttered under his breath.

"Because I like the person holding me up to have their feet on solid ground, thank you very much! You're too tall, Krillin's not tall enough, and Vegeta's the perfect height for this!" Bulma's voice was shrill and Vegeta cringed at the sound as it echoed within the simulator's hull.

After several minutes of visually inspecting the wires and tubing before her, Bulma decided she did not want to investigate any more when she was feeling so tired. All the driving and stress of trying to communicate with Vegeta had left her feeling drained.

"Down, Vegeta," she gently pressed into his shoulders and he let her down slowly, hoping to avoid any more of her screaming, "I can't find any really obvious problem in there, and don't want to work around anything electrical at this time of night. I'm gonna start winding down with a movie and a snack! C'mon, Vegeta. No more tonight," she pointed to the lab's main door, "out of the lab now!"

Incensed, Vegeta followed her and the other two humans, keeping a short distance behind them and wondering why she hadn't investigated the issue further. Was she planning to completely scrap the simulator? Why was she ignoring him? He arrived in the kitchen moments after the others had taken seats at the breakfast table to play a board game, and while reheating a container of curried chicken and vegetables he glowered at them as they started to play a game, their faces bright and cheerful. Once the food had been heated to his satisfaction, he took the entire container plus a fork and spoon upstairs to his bedroom.

"Damn, I hate it when he does that. Never brings down his dishes..." Bulma rolled her eyes as the glowering Saiyan finally left and finally opted to take her turn.

* * *

Belly full of curry and mood unsettled, Vegeta changed into the pajamas he secretly liked the most and fell asleep around nine thirty. He woke with a start at two forty five, still furious about his long, unpleasant day and the fact that there was still no solution to the issue with the simulator.

He moved into the washroom pulled off his loose t-shirt, rinsed his face and looked at himself in the mirror.

If a solution isn't found, I may be stranded here forever. The option to sneak off in search of medical help is currently out of reach and presently shows no signs of improvement.

" _Face it, Vegeta, you're fucked._ "

He paced the tile floor for many minutes, trying to figure out his next step. Damn lazy humans, he thought, it's probably not even a huge issue. Hell, I'm sure I could...

 _"There's no reason I can't do this,"_ his eyes brightened, _"it's just human machinery; I've repaired PTO-issued spacecraft before and won't be stopped by this!"_

The house was silent and dark as he went downstairs and down the hall to the lab. When he reached the lab's doors with key-pad entrance, he stared down at the twelve keys on the pad and knew that there were certain tones associated with each one.

" _Starting from top left and proceeding through each line until reaching the bottom right, each key produces a tone that is a slightly higher pitch than the last..."_

He'd heard Bulma punch in the access code so many times that he'd actually memorized the sequence of tones. After several minutes of trying to place the tones on the key pad, he decided to give it a try.

**5-8-1-3-4-7-1**

A red light flashed. He'd been denied access.

**"PLEASE TRY AGAIN."**

**5-7-1-8-4-9-1**

The red light again.

**"PLEASE TRY AGAIN."**

**5-8-1-9-4-8-2**

**"ACCESS GRANTED."**

A green light flashed and he heard huge magnetic locks disengaging and the doors started to roll open. Vegeta walked into the lab and headed straight for the simulator, overhead lights switching on and adding to a growing buzz as the sensors around the lab caught his movements.

Just tall enough to stand underneath the ship, Vegeta pulled himself up into its interior, coming face to face with a tangle of piping, tubes, and electrical wires.

Vegeta inhaled through grit teeth and tried to figure out what everything led to. When he visually followed the pathways of pipes and wires and found many of them merged together, he snarled with frustration and slapped a palm on a hollow-sounding pipe.

" _How does the woman make sense of this crap?! Damn, this is complicated!"_

Little did Vegeta know that his presence in the lab had been noted by the extensive security system Bulma had set up in case the Saiyan decided to break in. She'd been startled out of a deep sleep by a blaring alarm on her phone, which vibrated with such force that it seemed to whizz of her bedside table and landed on the cluttered hardwood floor with a clatter. The scientist threw on a pair of drawstring shorts and an old, oversize t-shirt, pulled on her housecoat and sandals, and ran to the lab as fast as she could.

Vegeta continued to look through the tubes and wires, barefoot and clad in his flannel bottoms, crouched on the curved steel bottom, totally determined to find the source of the problem. Saiyans were so technologically advanced that he'd surely prove he was capable of repairing the simulator alongside the woman, if not by himself.

The Saiyan literally stumbled across the problem with the simulator when he trod over a thick electrical wire with a loose connection which was finally broken by the weight of the muscular man, the centre of left his heel making contact with bunches of exposed live copper wire, his right hand pressed against the side of the hull. The power of the electrical shock was so great that the Saiyan's muscles contracted violently, and by a miracle he managed to wrench his leg away and fell face-first into the mess of piping and wiring, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

Bulma heard the thud from inside the simulator as she reached the lab and immediately grabbed a flashlight to check the situation inside. Horrified, she found the temporary door wide open and Vegeta unconscious, his feet and hands burned and hair completely on end. When she spotted the flash of copper wiring a few inches away from Vegeta's bare foot, she immediately knew what had happened: Vegeta had suffered a serious electrical shock.

"Oh, no! Vegeta! Can you hear me?"

Silence.

"Okay, Bulma..." she sank, knees weak, and popped up again to take another look at him, "don't freak out... get him out!"

His chest rose and slowly fell and Bulma heaved a sigh of relief. Knocked out, but still breathing. Not in contact with any exposed wiring at that point, she figured, but she didn't want to take any risks.

She pulled a set of thick rubber boots, gloves, hard hat, and a massive protective smock from a huge bottom drawer on a mobile tool cart and dressed quickly, wasting no time before she ran into the simulator, located the main electrical breaker, and shut everything down. Heart pounding, she ran back outside and screamed when he literally fell out of the open trap door and hit the ground, remaining motionless for several seconds before his eyes fluttered open and he groaned in pain.

"Bulma..." he flopped onto his stomach and started to crawl out from underneath the simulator, "f-f-f-fowwwww-unn-dugh- th-the..."

"Oh, my god..." she approached slowly and pulled off one of her gloves to touch his bare arm, "Vegeta? Are you okay?"

"F-f-dound a problem..." he managed to struggle up to onto his knees and relied on Bulma's body for support, "O-K."

"Vegeta! Can you understand me? C'mon," she guided him to his feet and half-carried him to a workbench, puffing and struggling to support his solid and slowly increasing weight, "lay down, that's it..."

He nodded and stared at the ceiling, eyes narrowing. "My feet hurt. Hand too."

"Vegeta, can you understand what I am saying to you?"

Exasperated, he rolled his eyes and tried to shift on the bench without disturbing his feet. "Yes!"

"You've sustained a serious electrical shock. You're lucky that didn't kill you, buddy! What the hell were you doing in there anyway? And why are you barefoot in my lab?!"

" _De,_ " he licked his lips and tried to shift on the bench, "can not sleep, very angry. I choose to find for problem in simulator. Perhaps I have discover it?"

She struggled not to laugh at his oddly innocent-sounding, soft voice and simple speech pattern. "You may have done just that..." she pulled a huge first aid kit out from underneath the work mobile bench. He struggled to stay still as she moved away and placed four brief phone calls, her voice barely audible.

As Bulma rinsed and cooled down his burns with a saline solution, Krillin, followed by Yamcha, and finally by Mrs. Briefs came to the lab accompanied by a doctor to see what all the commotion was about. The doctor checked the Saiyan over, who remained very quiet during the examination, and confirmed he had sustained serious second-degree burns to his hands and soles of his feet (noting that it was incredible he hadn't been killed when Bulma explained in vague terms what the Saiyan had been up to and the type of electrical current he'd encountered) and clipped a tiny heart monitor onto a fingertip to get an idea of the strange man's overall condition.

Vegeta was mostly quiet as the doctor applied a thick layer of a healing cream onto the burns, moaning through grit teeth when the doctor pulled away layers of ripped and hanging skin, and kept his eyes shut as his feet and hands were covered in a protective clear wrap.

"Mr. Vegeta, I think you need to be transported to hospital for continued monitoring and pain management. I would like to keep you overnight, just to make sure you're alright."

"No. I am good here. The burns not much. Heal myself."

Yamcha's jaw dropped open when he heard Vegeta speak in English and he looked to Krillin, who had had developed a thousand-yard stare.

"S-Sir... you literally received an electrical shock that instantly kills most human bei- hell, most living creatures! I really think you need to be kept under close watch for the next while, for your own well-being and safety."

"No."

"Sir, healthcare is free in this country. Please, I ask you to seriously consider accepting transport to hospital."

"Is it custom in this country to require ma- _de_ , **I** , repeat answer three times? No. Thank you, doctor."

Furious, the doctor made several short notes on a pad of paper before speaking again, "since I cannot force you into hospital without your consent, I'll simply leave you with these written care instructions. I'm not liable for anything that happens to you should you continue to remain here. If you reconsider, call an ambulance. Good luck, Ms. Briefs," he handed the paper to her between two fingers, "it seems you have your hands very full around here."

"That's Doctor Briefs, Mr. Anderson," she snatched the paper and pushed it into housecoat pocket without breaking her cold stare, "and good night. Mom, can please you show him out?"

The silence was finally broken when Mrs. Briefs led the doctor out of the lab.

"He... he speaks English again..." mumbled Krillin, mouth slack and barely moving. His face was the colour of raw pastry dough.

"Thank God! Can you imagine if we had to keep using a sketchpad and playing charades?" Bulma sank down to the floor, her back pressed against the wall, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

"I would have leave. I know doctors who will take payment of secret. And it is all terrible," Vegeta shifted, "but it seems to have re-start. I get better at, _de_ , _de_ , talk-ing in week or so. Must listen to Earthling talk, I soon talk just like you. Shock help? Maybe."

Yamcha shook his head. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Vegeta was micro-chipped? "If you're telling the truth about the microchip, how didn't that thing cook your brains during your accidental electrocution or fly outta your head during the MRI?"

Vegeta stared at the three humans before him, his upper lip curing with disgust as he registered Yamcha's question and attitude. For several minutes he stared at his bandaged hands and seemed to silently rehearse something, making several false starts before finally speaking, his voice husky and accent heavy, "often I forget you people so limited are. Metals and alloy-suh hav- have'n- not been used, in _de_ , em, in PTO- medical implant for more than one thousand years, due of faults and fai-" he licked his lips, "rate of failure. Chips do not require com-compon- _de_ , _de_ , ugh, I forget the damn word, you know, the different parts of metal, eghh, _de-de-de_ , in order to function and, mmm, and take extreme condition. All-so in PTO not all with same bodies, brains. So for different brains a chip to work in all most everyone. Saiyans yes. Soldiers burn in to dust been found with microchips, you say, in-tact? Whole. Still work. Use again. PTO I give credit for realize-ings metal, not, de, not so good for with inter-planet travel and medical, eh, thr-three thousand years ago?"

Thirty seconds of awkward silence later, Krillin threw up his hands and left the lab, muttering under his breath about being "unable to believe that crap or that lucky bastard" and "what kind of elements are out in space?"

* * *

The next morning, Vegeta chose to levitate two inches off the ground to spare his blistered feet any discomfort, and took his usual spot at the table. Bulma arrived two minutes later and fetched Vegeta a cup of coffee.

"I see you re-bandaged your hands. How are you feeling? Can ya hold this?" Bulma slid the steaming cup over to the Saiyan and beamed.

"Blisters. Pierce them early this morning. Fluid. Hurts, but have pills for that. Can walk but will not. Have, um, _de_ , white paste for healing. I will be fine soon," he held the cup between his palms and took a shallow sip.

"Awww, Vegeta. I can help if you need it."

"No. I help me. Now I learn not to hit my head so hard."

"Yeah," Bulma fetched her tablet and went to bring up Vegeta's MRI's and medical record, "I still have so many questions about... everything that's happened over the last several days, Vegeta..."

"I do not know the answer. I will not help you look for answer. It is a mystery," he took another sip of coffee, "and I will not solve it this time. Not right now."

Bulma conceded and put away her tablet, laughing at Vegeta's apparently softer English-speaking voice combined with his usual blunt style of reasoning. "Okay, big guy. You know what? We should go grab some burritos at that diner downtown so you'll have a chance to listen to more Earthling-speak without having to actually talk to anybody. Besides me, of course! We _can't_ have you learning English from television programs..."

"Burritos? What is burritos? It sounds familiar. Is it food?"

"Go change into something a bit more presentable, Vegeta, and make sure your feet are bandaged up before you put on some sandals. You're in for a treat."


	10. Learning Opportunities

Over the following three weeks, as his hands and feet healed, Vegeta took it upon himself to venture outside the compound for an hour or two every day so he could observe and listen to everyday conversations, typically going in the mid-morning when everybody at the compound was too busy to notice his absence. Bulma never seemed to notice (or care) when he took small bills and coins from her wallet, always taking just enough to cover a decent meal. Vegeta told himself he'd just pay her back someday, once he'd figured out some way to make a decent amount of money without having to take on conventional Earthling professions.

He favoured a small cafe downtown because it managed to always be fairly busy, but never overcrowded, not to mention he quickly developed a fondness for the owner's chicken salad sandwiches on sourdough and the selection of pastries and pie. Aside from the cafe's owner, who realized by the strange man's third visit that he didn't like to make much conversation outside of "what will you have today?", nobody ever spoke to him.

But Vegeta listened. He regained his full vocabulary and even expanded it beyond what he'd known prior to his accident. His accent remained but the nasal quality of his voice softened and gave way to a husky baritone.

One evening, after training for four hours straight, Vegeta passed through the kitchen to discover the woman and her mother seated at the table, sipping coffee and filing through a stack of pink and silver invitation cards.

"Ugh, _he's_ invited? He is so stuck up!"

"I'm inviting Dr. Bonilla because of his connection to the university. It's not like you have to talk to him, Bulma!" Mrs. Briefs took the card from Bulma and slid it into an envelope.

"I'll kill this one you call Bonilla if you dislike him so much. For a price, of course," Vegeta reached into the refrigerator and opened a half gallon carton of milk, "seventy five Zeni should cover it." He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched the women, amused by the conversation he'd stumbled into.

Mrs. Briefs groaned and shook her head. "Sick sense of humour..."

"You are not funny," Bulma stifled a laugh, "but I think you'd rather let him live... at least long enough to talk to him at the garden party. Do you remember that doctor who blew you off after your chip went all wonky and you lost the ability to understand us?"

Eyes narrowed to slits, Vegeta recalled the beginning of that awful (not to mention really humiliating) incident and internally debated on whether or not he really wanted to know. Eventually, his curiosity won. "Go on..."

"Well, I know you can figure out languages very quickly when things are working right in your head, so I told him you spoke Spanish and had simply lost your ability to speak English. Then he spoke in Spanish, and you just stared at him with a real poker face. He decided you and I were simply pulling a prank on him in the end and that's why he left without trying to help us out. And he was just so damn condescending to me! Ugh! I happen to be a highly educated woman, and have lectured at the same university as him!"

Vegeta finished the carton of milk before carelessly tossing it into the sink and shrugging. "Alright. Give me access to broadcasts or real-life audio recordings of this language you call Spanish, and I'll pick it up quickly enough. Hell, it'll be a good test for my chip."

"If you're interested in learning another language, I could try to help you out," Bulma winked, "and would it kill you to rinse out the carton and throw it in the recycling bin?"

"It might. I'm off to shower and pass out for the evening. Get the Spanish speech recordings at once!"

* * *

Over the following week, Vegeta spent a few hours watching Spanish-language news broadcasts and talk-shows (the number and variety of television channels available at the compound was a bit mind-boggling for the Saiyan) and he picked up the language easily. Vegeta freely translated back and forth to anybody interested in learning what was being said, although he had a tendency to translate things from Spanish into English quite literally and sometimes in a very strange syntax, which Bulma and Yamcha found absolutely hilarious.

Two nights before the garden party, Bulma managed to talk Vegeta into wearing some new, dressy clothes she'd selected just for the occasion. When she presented him with a short sleeved button up shirt the colour of robin's egg, white trousers, and white loafers, the Saiyan physically recoiled and his nose wrinkled when he started imagining himself actually wearing the outfit.

"This is one ugly outfit..." he hung the items up in his closet, "you know I prefer wearing darker colours. _Come on_."

"Everybody wears bright colours for these things, Vegeta. If you wear all dark colours, you'll look out of place, which is saying something considering you're probably going to be the most athletic man the guests have ever seen. Plus, it's gonna be a catered event..."

"Fine," he rolled his eyes and approached Bulma from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and pecking her neck, "I'll go, if only to put a stop to your incessant bitching for a while."

"Thank you," she placed her hands on top of his arms and squeezed gently, "now, I didn't intend to leave your room without spending some quality time with you..."

"Is that so?" He picked Bulma up, carried her over to his bed and playfully tossed her onto the mattress, straddling her before she had a chance to sit up or roll over. He pulled off her shorts and panties in one swift movement. Bulma giggled, sat up and pulled off Vegeta's shirt, tossing it aside before wrapping her arms around his bare shoulders.

* * *

Staring at the reflection in the mirror, a little numb with disbelief, Vegeta worked up the nerve to step foot outside the relative safety of his bedroom and face the woman. After taking a final deep breath, he opened the door and came face to face with Bulma, who was dressed in a pastel blue knee-length dress with a wide skirt and delicate crinoline underneath. She'd even gone to the trouble of painting her fingernails a very similar colour, and wore the sort of light, sparkly jewelry that constantly caught the light and annoyed Vegeta.

"Look at you!" Bulma clapped her hands together and adjusted his shirt collar. "You look so handsome in your blue shirt! Just let me fix your hair," she led him into her bedroom and took a fine comb, which Vegeta nicked from her fingers and tossed onto her desk.

"Don't even try it. Let me see," he leaned in to look in her mirror and pushed back a few stray hairs near his right temple, "my hair looks like it should. Let's just get this over with, woman. You know I've been growing impatient with your progress on the repairs to my simulator."

"Then let's go," she switched off the overhead light fixtures and they started for the backyard, "maybe I've just been stalling so the simulator won't be outside where everybody can see it. No, I'm kidding! The electrical system is getting a very, very thorough look-over, along with several repairs."

Vegeta's mouth tightened and he rolled his eyes. "You are not funny. Now let's do this."

As Bulma expected, the Saiyan went right for the food. He stacked a small china plate with finger sandwiches and pieces of melon, scoffing at the miniature portions. Bulma tried to keep a slight distance when she went to the buffet, but slowly she sided up to him.

"Why is all this food so small? I am most displeased by this selection. When you said this would be a catered event, I believed this meant there would be full meals! Just eating this is going to make me hungrier."

"I'll make it up to you later. Please, just keep me company..."

"Do you hate these people just as much as I do?"

"Oh, come on! You don't even _know_ these people. I just really don't feel like having the _"how are you why yes I am in my thirties now and no I am not married"_ conversation a few dozen times today."

"Ugh," Vegeta sniffed at a smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwich, "all the pastel colours are incredibly offensive."

Bulma spotted a passing waiter carrying a tray of full wine glasses and took two. She handed one to Vegeta, who eyed the small size of the glass and growled. " _Really_?"

"Let's just go somewhere quiet, V-"

Too late. An older woman dressed in a smart cream coloured pantsuit approached the pair and while she smiled at Bulma, she only looked at Vegeta for a split second. "Bulma! Well, I haven't seen you in eight or nine years now! How are you? You look wonderful."

"Doctor Roberts, it's good to see you again. I'm doing well, how are you?"

Vegeta set his plate down on the buffet table and walked away from the two women, rapidly losing his cool and desperate to get away from the noise and humans milling around. He disappeared into the quietest part of the garden, taking a seat on a wood and wrought iron bench underneath a canopy of ivy, and sipped his wine. The fact that it was warm on top of being such a small serving really ticked off Vegeta, and he finished the glass in three sips and mindlessly tossed the glass off to the side, where it landed in a patch of soft ground.

Fifteen minutes later, doing his best to ignore the sounds of something called a "string quartet" in the distance, Vegeta opened his eyes and spotted a portly, short man with an impressive white beard approaching.

"I am no fan of these parties," the man puffed, "but my wife insists we attend these things..."

"Then it would seem we have at least one thing in common," Vegeta rolled his eyes and wondered how easily he could track down the person with the wine without being spotted.

"You mind if I take a seat? I'm David, by the way. Doctor David Ives."

_Oh great, another one of these pretentious sorts the woman seems to associate with on some level._

"If you must. Where is the wine? And not the wine in the tiny glasses, either!"

The older man laughed and sat down beside Vegeta. "Ohh, you sound like you dislike these parties even more than I do. Were you forced to attend this too?"

The Saiyan cracked up in spite of himself. "So what do you do, Ives?"

"I am a professor of linguistics at West City University. And what do you do, Mister... ah, ah..."

"Linguistics, hmm? You wouldn't know a man named Bonilla, would you?"

"Oh, you mean Carlos Bonilla? He's one of my colleagues! He's a fascinating fellow- worked as a brain surgeon for years before going into academia, and has published three absolutely brilliant books on how people learn second, third, or even multiple languages, retain or lose their grasp on them; I highly recommend them if you're interested in linguistics and especially if you're interested in social psychology and brain development. I'm certain he's here; in fact, I saw him just a little while ago. Wait, you didn't tell me your name!"

The Saiyan rose from the bench and headed back out to the party. He had to find the bastard who had insulted him.

After several minutes of hovering around the edges of the party, managing to nab another (small) glass of wine and watching the party-goers, recalling the man's physique was thin and greying. When he spotted Bulma speaking with a man who fit that exact profile, he approached and visually confirmed it was the man he was looking for.

"Ah, señor Vegeta. Cómo estás?" Dr. Bonilla smirked at Vegeta.

"Como muy bien como se puede ser en este tipo de evento. El exceso de colores pastel para mi gusto."

Dr. Bonilla's mouth dropped open and he looked at Bulma, stunned by what he was hearing. "So you were just playing a trick on me, weren't you?"

"No, we weren't," Vegeta drained his wine glass.

"I beg your pardon?"

"En español, doctor? Yo dije: No estábamos jugando una mala pasada a usted. Pero se ha perdido una gran oportunidad para llevar a cabo la investigación. La parte idioma de mi cerebro se convirtió realmente en una pizarra en blanco durante unos días. He aprendido que ha publicado tres libros. Por favor, yo estaría tan interesado en obtener una copia. Come on, Bulma," he gently brushed the woman's arm, "I would like to leave now. Would you?"

"Um, yes... I'll see you again soon, Doctor Bonilla. We have another engagement to attend."

Doctor Bonilla struggled to compose himself and firmly nodded at the two before turning on his heel and leaving the party as quickly as possible. Those Briefs were an _odd_ bunch, and they attracted the strangest sorts into their lives!

* * *

"It's about time we got some real food," Vegeta ripped the paper off his falafel and took a huge, greedy bite, "and I'm never attending a "garden party" ever again. That was ridiculous."

"You are the strangest guy..." Bulma dunked a piece of pita into a cup of hummus. They'd managed to take off in Bulma's small sports car and headed out for Lebanese and a meal by the shore.

"I mean it. The biggest insult of all was the tiny glasses of wine! But I am glad that I finally cornered that idiot who insulted us."

"You may have scared him half to death with that conversation. What exactly did you say to him? You didn't threaten him, did you?"

"Mm," Vegeta took another bite of his falafel before answering, "just that he missed a big learning opportunity, and that I wished to have copies of his books."

Bulma laughed. "You really want to read his books? That'll mean you'll have to learn how to read and write beyond the numeric system and basic text message acronyms. Although, as it stands, your text messages are pretty damn funny right now. Acronyms and smiley faces..." she giggled again.

"Then I'll become fully literate in this language you call English. Any language that uses a similar writing system will become decipherable in time as well."

"You're really gonna learn? But you're not gonna tell me any more about your chip? For instance... where to find the damn thing? What it looks like?"

"I'm sure you'll find it, if you look long and look closely enough. Just approach it as though you are trying to detect something that is nearly-invisible, like a contact lens. Except it is smaller and much thinner."

Bulma rolled her eyes. "Very helpful..."

The Saiyan finished his falafel in a final, huge bite. "Consider it a learning opportunity, woman."


	11. Epilogue

* * *

Propped up by several of Bulma's huge goose feather pillows and completely absorbed in a chapter of Bonilla's book on cognitive processing and language learning, Vegeta followed the neat lines of text with his finger and occasionally paused to consider the academic's ideas. What the Saiyan knew about the subject of cognitive psychology amounted to zero, of course, but he still found the book quite fascinating. He tried to read a chapter every evening and even made a few notes in the margins.

"Hey, Mr. Smarty-Pants, what'cha reading about tonight?" Bulma emerged from her en-suite washroom, damp hair freshly washed and combed out, and dressed down in a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top.

"Very funny. This text on language re-inforcement and social conditioning is fascinating. I do see he references other authors, somebody named "Skinner" and "Vi-got-sky"..."

"That's _Vygotsky_..."

Vegeta traced the line of text and realized she was correct. The written form of English was so very strange. "Huh... my point is, I do not know these other authors he references, and I'm only going to get so much out of human academia, which doesn't really interest me anyway. Anyway, I'm interested by the idea of the social re-inforcement of language, but I also realize now mood and tone of voice implicate a great deal in what you say here. Sometimes you and the others were talking about me without directly mentioning my name a lot... especially the Scarface."

Bulma's blood ran cold for a split second. Just what had he picked up on? Although Bulma never considered Vegeta a stupid man, she also hadn't fully realized just how intelligent he was: he'd practically picked up the ability to read and write in English, dedicating ninety minutes each morning, usually around ten thirty, once he'd warmed up his body and was in the mood for a snack. The Saiyan had requested a typical language program used in schools and universities so as to develop literary skills the same way humans did. Although Vegeta didn't really enjoy sitting down and _learning_ something through a series of lessons, he was willing to try it, just to see how quickly he could become literate.

It didn't take very long at all. Within a month, Vegeta was capable of writing short notes (his penmanship was quite neat, although he had difficulty with punctuation and spacing) and could read text. He didn't take up reading as a major pastime, but he did occasionally skim through online encyclopedia entries on Bulma's tablet, looking up things such as "human hair growth" (the woman's frequently changing hairstyle left him very disturbed) and different martial art styles practised by humans.

Unsure if she wanted to know the truth, Bulma quietly asked the Saiyan about how he knew about when he was being talked about.

"Because you lower your voices and the rhythm of your words change. Cadence or some shit. The bald one would develop a... uh... fuck, what did they call it... it was like a vibration. His throat tightened right up. You think I haven't heard that kind of sound coming out of a voice box before? It's as though people decided I was a total fucking idiot all of a sudden, and I _didn't_ like that," finally looking up from the book and his icy eyes locking on Bulma's, "because I'm way fucking smarter than you give me credit for. I think the only time there wasn't some hush-hush discussion about me was at Kakarot's house, but even then..."

_Heh, the one time he didn't pick up on us talking about him was when he was at his most self-absorbed during this whole fiasco... very telling indeed..._

"I don't doubt that whatsoever," Bulma eased herself onto the bed and scoffed at the number of pillows Vegeta used to prop himself up, "are you planning on sleeping here or something?"

"Mm, a good suggestion. Your sheets are fresh and mine are three days old..."

"Oh my Goddddd," Bulma reached for her cigarette case and was quick to light up a final smoke for the day, "you are just too much. But I'm happy you wanna spend the night here..."

The Saiyan shut the book and set it on the floor (it was where Bulma left plenty of other books anyway) before pulling off his top. "Save the cigarette, woman," he pulled it out of her fingers and stubbed it into the ashtray on her bedside table, straddling her in the process, "you can smoke after I'm done with you..."

Bulma giggled, kissed Vegeta's bare chest, and started to pull his shorts down. Every once in a while, they really did seem to speak the same language.  
  
  
 _End_


End file.
